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tl 


AU 
appearti 
Stat  s  0 
their  pr 
them. 


aU  of  the  stories  in  this  volume  have 
appeartd  in  magazines  either  in  the  United 
Stat  s  or  in  Canada.  3y  the  courtesy  of 
their  proprietors ^  I  am  enabled  to  republish 

^^'^;  G.  M.  Fairchild,  Jr. 


f 


A 


^^ 


>«c^ 


f 


/4/0 


A  RIDICULOUS 
COURTING 


AND  OTHER  STORIES  OF 
FRENCH  CANADA 


G.  M.   FAIRCHILD,  JR. 

•VI'TtfON  or  "  KCID  AND  CANOB,   UPLB  AND  SKOWSHOB," 
"a   WIHTKR  CAUdVAL,"    BTf. 


CHICAGO 

R.  R.  DONNELLEY  &  SONS  COMPANY 

1900 


f 


f 


/^/O 


A  RIDICULOUS 
COURTING 


AND  OTHER  STORIES  OF 
FRENCH  CANADA 


G.  M.  FAIRCHILD,  JR. 

author  op  "  rod  and  canob,  biplk  and  snowshok,' 

"a  wintbr  carnival,"  BTC. 


CHICAGO 

R.  R.  DONNELLEY  &  SONS  COMPANY 

1900 


W 


PS2>¥ta| 
A5? 

1900 


• 

A  RiDici 

* 

The  Rei 

Mamsell 

COPYBIGHT,  1900 

The  TRi 

Bv  R.  R.  DONNELLEY  ft  SONS  CO. 

NARDS 

Chicago 

At  St.  1 

Two  Ol 

Love  Tr 

TheApo' 

The  Sto 

' 

The  Ro 

k 


CONTENTS 

A  Ridiculous  Courting     . 

The  Return  of  Little  Papita    . 

Mamselle  Jarbeau's  Burglar      . 

The  Tragedy  of  Anse  aux   Ca- 
nards .... 

At  St.  Therese         , 

Two  Old  Soldiers    .         .  . 

Love  Transferred     . 

The  Apotheosis  of  Paddy  Larrisey 

The  Story  of  Locksley     . 

The  Romance  of  Rutherford's 

» L AT    •  •  •  •  • 


PAOB 

3 
3> 

47 

77 
III 

»37 

i57 
185 

217 
235 


A  I 


A  Ridiculous  Courting 


A  Ridiculous  Courting 

pRAXADE  JENESSE  stood 
-■-  leaning  over  his  pig-pen  one 
early  morning  quite  unmindful  of 
the  noisy  clamor  of  its  two  occu- 
pants. They  had,  however,  re- 
minded him  of  a  conversation  with 
the  cure  the  night  before,  after  he 
had  made  his  confession.  The 
good  man  had  rebuked  him  again 
for  continuing  to  live  like  a — yes, 
like  one  of  his  own  pigs,  instead  of 
marrying  and  becoming  a  respect- 
able citizen.  Bon  Dieu!  this  get- 
ting married  was  a  very  great  re- 
sponsibility. Where  was  he, 
Praxade  Jenesse,  to  find  a  wife 
who  would  fulfill  all  the  conditions 
so  necessary  to  a  life  partnership? 
Had  he  not  canvassed  the  possi- 

3 


A  Ridiculous  Courting 

bilities  of  every  spinster  in  the  par- 
ish, who  were  all  wanting  in  some 
particular?  He  wished  the  cure 
was  not  set  about  his  marrying,  so 
that  he  might  take  more  time  to 
look  about  him;  for  really  one 
could  not  be  too  careful  in  taking 
so  important  a  step.  At  this  point 
his  meditation  was  interrupted  by 
the  sound  of  an  approaching  cart, 
and  looking  up  the  road  he  saw 
Prudent  Tranquille,  the  pork 
butcher  from  Terre  Blanche,  ap- 
proaching, his  round  red  face 
beaming  like  a  sunburst.  He 
stopped  and  dismounted. 

"  Bien,  Praxade !  Wishing  you 
had  a  wife  as  fat  and  tender  as  one 
of  your  own  pigs?"  Here  Prudent 
laughed  at  his  own  porcine  wit. 
Everything  was  piggy  with  Pru- 
dent, from  long  associ;»tion  with 
that  animal  alive  and  dead. 


"H 
thinkii 
Praxa( 
"Ba 
age  is 
nothin 
keeps 
mangy 
plump 
"Pe 
"W: 
throug 
"Of 
"Nc 
"Th 
"An 

"Qt 

"Wi 
full  bin 
"Yo 
"An 
"Ha 
describ( 


A  Ridiculous  Courting 


"How  do  you  know  I  was 
thinking  of  a  wife?"  answered 
Praxade  somewhat  sheepishly. 

"  Bah !  When  a  man  of  your 
age  is  not  married  he  thinks  of 
nothing  else,  my  friend,  and  it 
keeps  him  poor  in  flesh,  and 
mangy.  What  you  want  is  a  nice 
plump  little  wife . 

"Perhaps." 

"With  some  streaks  of  lean 
through  her?" 

"  Of  course !  " 

"  Not  too  heavy  or  old." 

"  The  Lord  forbid !  " 

"  And  easy  on  her  feed." 

"  Quite  true !  " 

"  With  a  nice  little  outfit  and  a 
full  bin." 

"  You  are  inspired,  Prudent !  " 
"  And  lots  of  root  in  her." 
"  Ha !  ha !    Prudent,  you  have 
described  an  angel !  " 
5 


A  Ridiculous  Couru    > 


"  Bah !  I  find  such  angels  every 
day  grunting  because  they  can't 
find  husbands.  It  takes  a  pork 
butcher  to  weigh  you  all  up  and 
pen  you,"  laughed  Prudent. 
"  Come,  Praxade,  promise  me  the 
fattest  pig  in  your  pen  if  I  find  you 
a  wife." 

Prudent's  freehand  sketch  of 
charming  femininity  had  quite 
captivated  Praxade,  and  the  oflfer 
seemed  to  promise  him  relief  from 
his  perplexity.  He  closed  with 
Prudent  at  once,  only  cautioning 
him  to  be  very  sure;  one  could  not 
be  too  careful. 

"  Bon,  you  will  see.  Come  to 
me  Sunday  after  mass,"  replied 
Prudent,  as  he  drove  oflF. 

About  half-way  down  the  long 
hill  which  led  directly  into  the 
heart  of  the  village  of  Terre 
Blanche  lived  Urbaia  Clarisse  and 

6 


o 

gels  every 
they  can't 
es  a  pork 
i\\  up  and 
Prudent, 
lise  me  the 
I  lind  you 

sketch  of  i 
had  quite 
1  the  oflfer 
relief  from  ] 
osed  with 
:autioning 
!  could  not  m 

Come  to 
5,"  replied 

n  the  long 

'  into  the 

of   Terre 

larisse  and 


A  Ridiculous  Courting 


his  daughter  Ursule.  The  Clarisse 
house  was  high-peaked  and  dor- 
mered,  and  stood  flush  with  the 
roadway.  It  was  painted  a  pale 
green,  with  orange  trimmings.  A 
highly  polished  brass  knocker 
graced  the  door,  but  the  house's 
principal  claim  to  distinction  lay 
in  its  windows,  which  were  ablaze 
with  gorgeously  printed  paper 
shades  representing  pots  of  rare 
exotics  in  fullest  bloom.  It  was 
very  deceptive,  very  gay;  but  then 
Urbain  could  afford  such  luxuries. 
Was  he  not  entered  on  the  rolls 
of  the  secretary-treasurer  of  the 
parish  as  a  rentier,  and  his  income 
from  his  investments  was  certainly 
not  less  than  one  hundred  and 
fifty  dollars  a  year.  To  live  up  to 
all  this  with  dignity,  Urbain  did 
nothing  but  smoke  and  talk  poli- 
tics with  his  neighbors.    He  was  a 

7 


A  Ridiculous  Courting 


widower  with  only  the  one  daugh- 
ter, Ursule.  She  had  passed  the 
first  blush  of  maidenhood,  but  was 
still  comely  of  appearance,  dark- 
haired,  black-eyed,  and  round  of 
figure.  As  became  the  daughter 
of  a  rentier,  she  possessed  a  num- 
ber of  acomplishments  not  given 
to  girls  less  fortunately  bom.  She 
could  play  an  accompaniment  on 
the  wheezy  little  harmonium  that 
graced  the  parlor  while  she  sang 
"A  la  Claire  Fontaine"  and  "Vive 
la  Canadienne"  in  fair  voice,  if  in 
somewhat  uncertain  time  with  the 
instrument.  At  the  village  con- 
vent she  had  also  learned  that 
pleasing  art  of  embroidering  on 
perforated  board  the  figures  of 
saints  and  angels  in  heavenly  col- 
ors, so  much  admired  when 
framed  and  hung  in  the  Sunday 
room.     She  was  a  thrifty  house- 

8 


■ 


i 


irting 

ne  daugh- 
^assed  the 
d,  but  was 
nee,  dark- 
i  round  of 
daughter 
ed  a  num- 
not  given 
)orn.  She 
fiiment  on 
nium  that 
i  she  sang 
and  "Vive 
/oice,  if  in 
le  with  the 
llage  con- 
rned  that 
dering  on 
figures  of 
Lvenly  col- 
•ed  when 
le  Sunday 
fty  house- 


A  Ridiculous  Courting 


\ 


wife,  moreover,  and  could  spin 
and  knit  and  make  her  own  cata- 
lagne.  The  only  reason  she  had 
not  married  will  shortly  appear. 

Close  beside  the  pretentious 
house  of  Urbain  Clarisse  stood  the 
modest  tiny  home  of  the  Widow 
Denancour.  It  was  whitewashed 
very  clean  and  red-gabled.  In  the 
one  little  window  which  looked 
upon  the  street  were  several  pots 
of  real  g^eraniums,  by  no  means  as 
effective  as  the  printed  flowers 
upon  the  shades  of  the  windows  in 
Urbain's  house;  but  the  Widow 
Denancour  was  not  entered  as  a 
rentier,  and  such  things  make  all 
the  difference  in  this  world  in  the 
point  of  esteem  in  which  our  sur- 
roundings are  viewed. 

The  widow  at  one  period  of  her 
loneliness  had  cast  tender  eyes  at 
Urbain,  and  had  hoped — ^but  that 

9 


k 


1 


A  Ridiculous  Courting 


was  all  past.  For  some  years  prior 
to  our  story  her  woman's  subtle 
arts  had  been  directed  to  makiiig 
a  match  between  her  son  Joe  and 
Ursule,  as  the  only  means  left  for 
uniting  the  fortunes  of  the  two 
families.  The  Denancours*  for- 
tune consisted  of  the  little  cottage, 
two  feather  beds,  and  a  chest  of 
homespun,  hand-woven  linen 
carefully  packed  in  bergamot;  but 
then  they  had  expectations.  The 
widow's  uncle,  the  Abbe  Pontin, 
was  very  old  and  rich,  and  he  had 
no  other  relatives.  This  relation- 
ship enabled  the  Denancours  to 
hold  their  heads  high  in  the  parish. 
When  the  widow  went  to  spin 
for  the  afternoon  with  Ursule,  and 
the  two  spinning-wheels  were 
humming  in  unison,  the  former 
would  cunningly  turn  the  conver- 
sation to  Joe.    Poor  fellow !    He 

lO 


1 


fting  

ears  prior 
I's  subtle 

0  making 

1  Joe  and 
ns  left  for 

the  two 
)urs*  for- 
e  cottage, 
I  chest  of 
in  linen 
imot;  but 
)ns.  The 
e  Pontin, 
id  he  had 
;  relation- 
icours  to 
he  parish. 
It  to  spin 
rsule,  and 
els  were 
le  former 
e  conver- 
iow !    He 


A  Ridiculous  Courting 

worked  so  hard,  she  was  really 
anxious  about  him.  M'sieu'  La 
Farge,  the  mill  owner,  had  told 
her  that  Joe  was  the  steadiest  fel- 
low in  his  employ.  Had  Ursule 
noted  how  thin  Joe  had  grown 
lately?  Her  uncle,  the  Abbe,  had 
made  Joe  his  heir,  and  some  day 
he,  too,  would  be  a  rentier. 

There  was  a  time  when  Ursule 
enjoyed  listening  to  these  praises 
of  Joe,  but  of  late  she  had  grown 
somewhat  impatient  of  the  dis- 
course, and  the  subject  of  it.  Her 
wheel  would  go  completely  out  of 
time  with  the  widow's,  an  occur- 
rence which  never  failed  to  break 
the  latter's  thread,  as  well  as  the 
thread  of  her  argument. 

It  was  about  time  Joe  proposed 

if  he  was  ever  going  to,  thought 

Ursule.     Her  looking-glass  told 

her  she  had  lost  some  of  the  fresh- 

II 


A  Ridiculous  Courting 


II! 


ness  of  youth,  and  the  hour-glass 
of  Time  that  she  was  older.  Most 
of  her  school  companions  were 
married,  while  she  remained  sin- 
gle. She  would  soon  be  called  an 
old  maid,  and  that  was  a  disgrace. 
Here  a  vicious  dig  on  the  pedal 
was  certain  to  break  her  own 
thread;  then  she  would  leave  her 
wheel  to  make  the  cup  of  tea  that 
brought  the  spinning  to  a  close  for 
the  day. 

A  friendship  had  begun  be- 
tween Joe  and  Ursule  in  mud-pie- 
making  childhood.  It  had  en- 
dured through  the  callow  period 
ot  youth,  when  it  found  expression 
in  bouquets  and  marguerites  on 
Joe's  part,  and  book-markers  on 
hers,  inscribed  in  wools  "A  tnon 
fl  V  In  maidenhood  and  man- 
hfj^>  tt  fr  ,md  its  note  in  a  liking 
for  .-i  h  other's  -  jmpany,  and  that 

13 


perfect 
follows 
I  friends 
breathi 
though 
other 
hithert 
Urbair 
"Wher 
Ursule 
we  will 
laughei 
was  nc 
must  b( 
Joe!  ] 
was.    I 

virove  i 
evening 
with  I 
Ursule 
"Go( 
Pruden 


A  Ridiculous  Conitmfr 


perfect  freedom  of  intercourse  that 
follows  an  ea*-' ,  \nd  uninterrupted 
friendship;  but  Joe  had  never 
breathed  of  love  or  marriage, 
though  he  was  impatient  of  any 
other  suitors,  and  Ursule  had 
hitherto  been  indifferent  to  them. 
Urbain  had  once  said  to  Joe: 
"Whenever  you  want  to  marry 
Ursule  I  will  buy  you  a  farm  and 
we  will  all  live  togrether."  Joe  had 
laughed,  and  replied  that  there 
was  no  hurry,  that  his  mother 
must  be  cared  for  yet  a  while.  Sly 
Joe!  It  was  all  so  pleasant  as  it 
was.    He  felt  so  sure. 

VVh-n  F'-'jdent  Tranquille 
drove  into  Terre  Blanche  in  the 
evening  of  the  day  of  his  interview 
with  Praxade  Jenesse,  he  met 
Ursule  coming  from  vespers. 

"Good  evening,  little  piggy," — 
Prudent  was  on  terms  of  easy 
'3 


1^ 


A  Ridiculous  Courting 

familiarity  with  every  one  in  the 
parish,  as  a  man  of  substance  and 
weight,  and  of  intimate  acquaint- 
ance arising  from  his  frequent 
visitations  in  the  way  of  business 
— "I  found  a  fine  bachelor  grunter 
to-day  who  is  Coming  to  be 
weighed  next  Sunday  after  mass, 
but  he  is  losing  flesh  fast  in  his 
anxiety  to  meet  you,  and  he  is 
soft,  very  soft,  of  heart.  What  do 
you  say,  little  squealer,  shall  I 
bring  him  to  you  to  be  cured?" 

"You  may  do  just  as  you  like, 
Prudence  Tranquille.  Bachelors 
are  always  pigs,  anyway,  and  Fve 
no  use  for  them." 

"So,  so,  little  one;  but  not 
after  they  have  had  their  bristles 
shaved  and  the  marriage-ring  put 
through  their  noses.  They  lead 
easily  then." 

Praxade  came  on  Sunday,  but 
»4 


ting 

le  in  the 
ance  and 
icquaint- 
frequent 
business 
r  grunter 
^  to  be 
ter  mass, 
ist  in  his 
nd  he  is 
What  do 
,  shall  I 
ired?" 
you  like, 
bachelors 
and  I've 

but  not 
r  bristles 
-ring  put 
Tiey  lead 

[day,  but 


1 


A  Ridiculous  Courting 

with  some  misgivings — one  had 
to  be  so  very  careful.  He  made  a 
fine  appearance,  however,  in  his 
castor,  frock-coat,  flaming  red  tie, 
and  kid  gloves.  He  drove  in  a 
buggie,  and  seemed  to  have  diffi- 
culty in  restraining  the  fiery  ardor 
of  his  horse,  and  actually  brought 
him  on  his  haunches  at  Prudent's 
door  before  he  could  be  stopped, 
after  many  arretez-doncs.  It  was 
very  well  done,  and  showed  a  high 
spirit  in  the  horse  and  a  nice  mas- 
tery on  the  part  of  Praxade.  Pru- 
dent awaited  him,  and  after  un 
coup  they  drove  away  to  the  house 
of  Urbain  Clarisse. 

Ursule  welcomed  them  in  the 
parlor,  and  during  the  general 
conversation  both  she  and  Prax- 
ade took  note  of  each  other.  Pru- 
dent quickly  departed  to  walk 
home. 

15 


ii  1 


I  , 


A  Ridiculous  Courting 

"Have  you  ever  been  in  the  par- 
ish of  Belle  Isle,  Mamselle?" 
asked  Praxade. 

"No,  M'sieu',"  replied  Ursule; 
then,  somewhat  inconsequentially, 
"but  I  sometimes  go  to  Quebec." 

"Ah!  Quebec  is  grand,  mag- 
nificent! Belle  Isle,  though, 
Mamselle,  is  a  paradise  for  tran- 
quillity. I  have  a  belle  cage  there, 
but" — ^with  a  slightly  nervous 
laugh — "no  bird  in  it  yet." 

"Birds  in  Belle  Isle,  M'sieu' 
Jenesse,  must  be  shy  of  cages." 

"Not  so,  Mamselle;  but  when 
one  has  a  belle  cap^e  one  does  not 
want  a  crow  for  an  occupant,  and 
sometimes  we  must  go  far  for  a 
rossignol.  They  are  scarce,  Mam- 
selle, and  one  must  be  so  very 
careful." 

"Rossignols  soon  cease  singing 
when  caged,  M'sieu'  Jenesse;  and 

i6 


! 


rting 

n  the  par- 
amselle?" 

d  Ursule; 

[uentially, 

Quebec." 

nd,  mag- 
though, 
for  tran- 

age  there, 
nervous 

t." 

,   M'sieu* 

:ages." 

but  when 
does  not 

pant,  and 
far  for  a 

ce,  Mam- 

;  so  very 

e  singing 
lesse;  and 


A  Ridiculous  Courting 

then  what  matters  it,  there  is  only 
the  difference  of  feathers." 

"If  fine  feathers  make  fine 
birds,  Mamselle,  then  there  are 
two  great  differences.  Will  you 
permit  me,  Mamselle,  to  drive 
you  as  far  as  my  belle  cage,  that  I 
may  have  the  pleasure  of  showing 
it  to  you?" 

"You  are  too  kind,  M'sieu' 
Jenesse.  I  should,  however,  like 
to  see  the  church  of  Belle  Isle." 

When  Praxade  gallantly  hand- 
ed Ursule  into  the  buggie  she 
glanced  triumphantly  toward  the 
Denancour  house,  but  as  neither 
Joe  nor  the  widow  was  visible  her 
pleasure  was  somewhat  damp- 
ened. She  made  herself  agree- 
able to  Praxade,  however,  and  the 
drive  was  an  enjoyable  one. 

The  following  Sunday  Praxade 
came  again,  but  this  time  he  drew 
17 


■""m 


!     » 

f 
■     « 


V( 


i 


A  Ridiculous  Courting 


up  before  Urbain  Clarisse's  door 
with  a  great  flourish.  His  caution 
had  now  given  place  to  the  ardor 
of  a  man  whose  mind  was  quite 
made  up  to  a  certain  line  of  action 
without  having  to  lose  any  fur- 
ther time  in  considering  it.  Ur- 
sule  played  and  sang  for  him,  and 
when  she  had  finished  she  seated 
herself  at  one  end  of  the  little  hair- 
covered  sofa.  Praxade  took  the 
other.  The  time  had  come  for 
him  to  declare  himself. 

"I  trust,  Mamselle,  that  you 
found  a  liking  for  Belle  Isle  after 
your  drive  there?" 

"The  church  of  Belle  Isle, 
M*sieu'  Jenesse,  is  very  pretty." 

"And  what  do  you  think  of  my 
belle  cage,  Mamselle?" 

"An  empty  cage,  M'sieu'  Jen- 
esse, is  but  a  dreary  place." 

"You  are  right,  Mamselle,  but 

i8 


^J 


rting 

sse's  door 
[is  caution 

the  ardor 
was  quite 
e  of  action 
;  any  fur- 
git.  Ur- 
r  him,  and 
she  seated 
;  little  hair- 
2  took  the 

come   for 

that  you 
e  Isle  after 


Belle    Isle, 
pretty." 
hink  of  my 


i 


['sieu'  Jen- 
ce. 
mselle,  but 


A  Ridiculous  Courting 

all  that  would  change  if  you 
would  consent  to  occupy  it." 

"But  my  papa,  M'sieu'  Jen- 
esse?" 

"He  shall  live  with  us,  Mam- 
selle." 

"In  that  case,  M'sieu'  Jenesse, 
I  consent." 

"Ursule,  you  are  an  angel." 

"Praxade,  you  are  crushing  my 
sleeve." 

"Will  you  name  the  day, 
Ursule?" 

"Let  us  say  the  Wednesday 
before  Michaelmas,  Praxade." 

"I  will  tell  the  cure  to  publish 
the  first  notice  next  Sunday." 

Gossip  sped  swiftly  in  the  par- 
ish of  Terre  Blanche;  Madame 
Sylvain,  who  kept  the  toll  bridge, 
was  the  receiver  and  dispatcher. 
As  she  slowly  made  the  change  for 
passer-by  she  asked  the  news,  and 

19 


A  Ridiculous  Courting 


(    : 


then  gave  her  own  budget,  inter- 
spersed   with    liberal    comments 
considerably   tinged   with   mali- 
ciousness.   It  was  not   good  to 
come  under  her  unsparing  review, 
but  it  was  quite  delicious  to  listen 
to  her  discussing  the   affairs   of 
others.    When  old  Madame  Ne- 
veau,  early  on  Monday  morning, 
on  her  rounds  through  the  village 
with  her  little  load  of  eggs,  pars- 
ley, onions,  potatoes,   and  other 
odds  and  ends,  came  to  the  bridge, 
Madame  Sylvain  held  her  in  con- 
versation while  she  fumbled  about 
in   her  pocket   for  a   penny   in 
change. 

"Bon  Dieu!  the  duplicity  of 
some  people.  To  think  of  Ursule 
Qarisse  keeping  Joe  Denancour 
hanging  about  her,  and  yet  re- 
ceiving the  attentions  of  Praxade 
Jenesse.     Unmarried  women  no 


'i 


longer 
When 
she  hs 
coming 
and  he 
not  ait 
that  n 
had  an; 
send  P 
and  gi 
mind, 
slow,  ( 
him.  . 
Madan: 
Befo 
Terre  ] 
affair,  I 
gossip 
cemed 
learn  w 
that  de: 
Joe  anc 
Sunday 


ao 


ret,  inter- 
:omments 
ith  mali- 
good  to 
ig  review, 
s  to  listen 
affairs  of 
iame  Ne- 
moming, 
:he  village 
ggs,  pars- 
ind  other 
he  bridge, 
ler  in  con- 
bled  about 
penny   in 

iplicity  of 
:  of  CJrsule 
Denancour 
id  yet  re- 
)f  Praxade 
vomer,  no 


A  Ridiculous  Courting 


longer  possessed  any  modesty. 
When  Praxade  passed  last  night 
she  had  asked  him  if  he  were 
coming  often  to  Terre  Blanche, 
and  he  had  replied  with  a  laugh, 
not  after  Michaelmas.  What  did 
that  mean?  If  Joe  Denancour 
had  any  spirit  left  in  him  he  would 
send  Praxade  to  the  right-about 
and  give  Ursule  a  piece  of  his 
mind.  But  he  is  so  soft  and 
slow,  one  has  no  patience  with 
him.  Ah!  here  is  the  penny, 
Madame  Neveau." 

Before  midnight  everybody  in 
Terre  Blanche  had  discussed  the 
affair,  but  it  is  a  curio"-)  phase  of 
gossip  that  the  parties  most  con- 
cerned in  it  are  always  the  last  to 
learn  what  is  said.  This  lends  to  it 
that  delightful  charm  of  mystery. 
Joe  and  his  mother  had  spent  the 
Sunday  with  Madame's  uncle,  the 
ai 


■.i 


■ 


A  Ridiculous  Courting 


Abbe  Pontin.    Monday  evening, 
however,  he  dropped  in  to  pass  an 
hour  with  Ursule,  as  was  his  wont. 
She  wore  a  rinp:  which  Praxade 
had  given  her,  and  she  took  sev- 
eral occasions  to  make  it  conspicu- 
ous, but  Joe  seemed  most  stupid, 
and  failed  to  notice  it.     Neither 
did  he  observe  a  nervousness  of 
manner  on  her  part.    Would  he 
never  understand?    Was  he  never 
to  show  any  sign,  thought  Ursule; 
must  she  tell  him? 

"Joe." 

"Well,  Ursule." 

"I  am  going  to  be  married  at 
Michaelmas." 

"What!"   exclaimed  Joe,   and 
his  heart  gave  a  big  thump. 

"I  have  accepted  Praxade  Jen- 

esse." 

"That  fellow!"  said  Joe  in  dis- 
gust.   "Why,  Ursule,  I  always  in- 


22 


A  Ridiculous  Courting 

tended  marrying  you  myself  some 
day." 

"Did  you,  Joe;  and  do  you  still 
feel  the  same  about  it?" 

"Such  a  question,  Ursule." 

"Would  you  marry  me  yet, 
Joe?" 

"Mon  Dieu!  just  you  try  me, 
Ursule." 

"But  what  about  Praxade, 
Joe?" 

"Bother  Praxade!" 

"Let  us  go  to  the  cure,  Joe,  and 
hear  what  he  has  to  say." 

"He  must  be  made  to  listen  to 
us,  Ursule." 

Cure  Saucier  was  at  work  in  his 
little  garden  when  they  arrived. 
He  pushed  his  spectacles  over  his 
forehead,  and  just  the  faint  tremor 
of  a  smile  appeared  at  the  comers 
of  his  mouth.  He  more  than  half 
suspected  the  errand  which  had 
23 


\ 


t, 


■l, 

■i  li 

1        ;  I 

I  .1 
I    i 

i 


i:i 


A  Ridiculous  Courting 

brought  them.  Searching  minds 
through  the  confessional  must,  in 
time,  give  one  the  power  of  divin- 
ing motive. 

"Good  evening,  my  children." 

"Father  Saucier,"  said  Joe,  after 
acknowledging  the  cure's  saluta- 
tion, "Ursule's  banns  with  Prax- 
ade  Jenesse  were  to  be  called  next 
Sunday  in  church." 

"Yes,  my  son." 

"Now,  Father,  for  Praxade  Jen- 
esse you  must  call  Joe  Denan- 
cour." 

"How  is  that,  my  son;  we  do 
not  marry  by  proxy?" 

"Praxade's  proxy !"  roared  Joe; 
"the  saints  forbid!  No,  Father 
Saucier,  Ursule  has  changed  her 
mind  and  she  is  going  to  marry 


me. 


>» 


"This  is  a  serious  matter,  my 
children,  and  we  must  consider." 

24 


I  !  : 


A  Ridiculous  Courting 


''But  it  must  be  done,"  persisted 
Joe. 

"And  what  do  you  say  to  all 
this,  l^rsule?"  asked  the  cure. 

"I  will  marry  no  one  but  Joe 
now.  Father  Saucier." 

"You  have  received  a  ring  from 
Monsieur  Jencsse." 

"Yes,  Father;  but  Joe  will  send 
him  its  cost,  and  I  will  keep  it  as 
Joe's  gift." 

"Since  it  must  be,  my  children, 
come  into  the  house  and  I  will  dic- 
I  tate  a  letter  for  Ursule  to  send  to 
Monsieur  Jenesse." 

It   read   about  as  follows:    "I 

have  reconsidered  my  answer  to 

you,  Monsieur  Jenesse,  and  I  am 

to  be  married  to  Joe  Denancour  at 

I  Michaelmas.     Accept  my  sincere 

[wishes  for  your  future  happiness." 

Praxade's  reply  came  a  few  days 

[later.     It  was  laconic,   but  ap- 


;  „■ 


It 


II 


!  i 


A  Ridiculous  Courting 


peared  to  breathe  a  generous 
spirit.  "Mademoiselle  Clarisse 
will  receive  a  wedding  present 
from  me  the  day  after  she  becomes 
Madame  Denancour." 

"How  nice  of  him,"  said  Ursule. 
"What  do  you  think  it  will  be, 
Joe?" 

"Perhaps  the  pig  he  promised 
Prudent,"  slyly  insinuated  Joe. 

"0,Joe!" 

The  wedding  was  a  very  gay 
one.     After    the    ceremony    the 
bride  and  groom  entered  an  open 
barouche  drawn  by  a  pair  of  white 
horses,  driven  by  a  coachman  inj 
top  boots  and  livery,  with  whipj 
bedecked  with  bright  ribbons.     A 
retinue  of  friends  followed  in  less 
pretentious  rigs,  and  a  round  of 
the  parish  followed,  with  much| 
feasting   and    dancing   wherever^ 
they  stopped;  the  fiddler  accom- 

a6 


:     'I 


A  Ridiculous  Cou rti ng 


panied  the  party  from  the  start. 
When  the  bride  and  groom 
reached  home  the  following  morn- 
ing a  courtly  stranger  met  them  at 
their  threshold.  "Madame  and 
Monsieur  Denancour,  I  presume," 
politely  touching  his  hat. 
"Yes,"  said  Joe. 
"I've  a  wedding  present  for  you 
both  from  your  friend  Monsieur 
Jenesse,"  and  the  courtly  gentle- 
man smiled  and  handed  each  of 
them  a  bulky  envelope. 

Ursule  quickly  tore  hers  open. 
"The  wretch !"  was  all  she  said  as 
she  handed  the  paper  to  Joe. 

The  courtly  gentleman  came  to 
Joe's  assistance.  "It  is  the  service 
of  a  writ  at  the  instance  of  Prax- 
ade  Jenesse  in  a  suit  for  fifty  dol- 
lars* damages  against  Ursule,  wife 
of  Joe  Denancour,  for  the  loss  of 
her  affections,  the  cost  of  a  stove, 
a? 


« 


'ill 


!       1 


A  Ridiculous  Courting 


and  the  value  of  a  new  suit  of 
clothes,"  and  here  the  courtly 
gentleman  smiled  again. 

"Pshaw!"  said  Joe;  "it's  cheap 
to  get  rid  of  Monsieur  Praxade  at 
such  a  price." 


a8 


rting 

w  suit  of 
e   courtly 

'it's  cheap 
'raxade  at 


The  Return  of  Little  Papita 


•MM* 


I      i  -,]• 


The  Return  of  Little  Papita 

T^HE  potency  of  Trader  La 
J-     Brue's    whisky    blanc,    raw 
high  wines  from  an  illicit  still,  had 
lent  to  Honore  Gouleau  that  high 
order  of  fighting  courage  which 
enables  a  man  to  beat  his  wife  with 
the  pleasurable  satisfaction  that 
comes  of  wiping  out  old  domestic 
scores  and  of  restoring  harmony 
in  the  family  circle.    There  are  no 
divorce  courts  on  the  Labrador 
Peninsula  for  ventilating  and  set- 
tling marital  infelicities.    Justice 
is  administered  by  the  aggrieved 
party  in  such  fashion  as  commends 
itself  to  his  liking  and  with  a  due 
sense  of  the  enormity  of  the  of- 
fense.    Such   public  opinion  as 
31 


sattM 


:5l! 


The  Return  of  Little  Papita 


there  was  left  at  LaBrue's  camp  at 
the  forks  of  the  Nisiicatchin  in  the 
late  October  days  fully  justified 
Honore  for  the  castigation  he  had 
given  his  good-looking  Montagn- 
ais  wife.     Gossip  had  long  been 
busy  with  her  name  and  that  of 
Flavien  LaMarche,  and  LaBrue 
had  been  heard  to   declare   that 
trouble  would  come  of  it  when 
Honore    returned    from  Port  of 
Brest.    Perhaps  it  was  he  who  in- 
formed Honore,  for  he  bore  La 
Marche  no  good  will,  as  his  rival 
for  the  trade  of  the  two  or  three 
dozen    families    of    Montagnais 
which  centered  at  the  camp  in  the 
golden  days  of  summer  to  bask  in 
the  sunshine  of  a  brief  plenty  from 
the  traders'  stores. 

Having  driven  his  wife  cower- 
ing to  a  corner  of  the  cabin,  Hon- 
ore, overcome  with  his  exertions 

32 


i 


( 


The  Return  of  Little  Papita 


and  the  effects  of  the  whisky,  and 
with  a  sneaking  pity  for  the 
mother  of  his  child,  snatched  up 
the  little  Papita,  and  mingling  his 
maudlin  tears  with  her  terrified 
ones,  together  they  fell  asleep  on 
the  bed,  and  silence  reigned  in  the 
house. 

That  night  the  snow  came,  and 
with  the  gray  dawn  of  day  the 
white  mantle  of  Northland  winter 
lay  deep  on  the  ground.  The  east 
wind,  through  the  gloomy  spruce 
forest,  sang  the  requiem  of  de- 
parted summer,  and  the  river 
flowed  dark  and  angrily  to  the 
gulf. 

It  was  LaBrue,  covered  with 
snow,  standing  over  him  and 
roughly  shaking  him  by  the  shoul- 
der, that  awakened  Honore  late  in 
the  morning. 

"Well,    my    pretty    dreamer, 
33 


The  Return  of  Little  Papita 


I  i 


'■,  ■  i-, 


It  I 


would  you  spend  all  your  time  in 
sleep?  Come,  up  with  you,  for  by 
my  heart  of  hearts  you  need  to  be 
stirring.  The  gay  birds  have 
flown  before  the  winter's  storm, 
and  LaMarche's  cabin  is  empty 
and  barred.  Do  you  hear,"  ex- 
claimed LaBrue,  "what  I  am  say- 
ing?" 

Honore,  but  half  comprehend- 
ing, sat  stupidly  staring    at    La 

Brue. 

"I  say,"  repeated  LaBrue,  "that 
LaMarche  is  gone  and  your  cage, 
my  fierce  one,  seems  to  be  emp- 
tied." 

Grasping  now  the  full  import  of 
LaBrue's  words,  Honore  sprang 
to  his  feet  with  a  cry  of  pain  like 
that  of  a  wounded  animal.  Even 
hardened  LaBrue  was  touched  be- 
fore the  first  terrible  outbreak  of 
the  man's  grief  at  the  loss  of  the 
34 


The  Return  of  Little  Papita 


darling  little  Papita,  "the  light  of 
his  eyes,"  "the  joy  of  his  days." 

"A  thousand  maledictions  upon 
them  that  robbed  me  of  ma  Petite, 
but  I  will  trail  them,  LaBrue,"  and 
Honore,  brushing  LaBrue  ast'de, 
rushed  wildly  in  the  direction  of 
LaMarche's  cabin.  The  trail, 
however,  lay  buried  beneath  the 
snow. 

The  comedy  was  played,  the 
tragedy  had  begun. 

Public  sentiment  being  quite 
satisfied  that  Honore  had  done  all 
that  was  necessary  to  vindicate  the 
fair  name  of  the  camp,  refused  fur- 
ther to  concern  itself  with  his  af- 
fairs. Besides,  who  could  tell 
whither  LaMarche  had  gone? 
Perhaps  to  the  coast,  or  into  the 
mountains  of  the  north.  Honore 
stormed  and  wept,  but  no  one 
would  stir. 

35 


The  Return  of  Little  Papita 


■ 


It  was  at  this  juncture  that 
Honore  sought  me  at  my  cabin, 
where  I  was  busy  completing  my 
report  of  exploration  in  the  in- 
terior for  the  government  at 
Quebec.  Honore  and  I  had 
shared  many  camp-fires,  had 
starved  together  in  the  Pipou- 
noukhi  mountains,  and  once  win- 
tered upon  the  great  tableland  of 
the  interior.  I  sat  long  with  him 
that  night,  and  we  smoked  many 
silent  pipes  before  I  finally  said  : 

"  Honore,  we  will  go  up  the 
river  into  the  mountains  of  the 
Khichikoua,  and  we  will  trap  and 
hunt  there  and  look  for  the  trail 
of  LaMarche  where  the  three 
rivers  head." 

And  Honore  bowed  his  head 
and  answered:  "It  is  well;  the 
master  has  decided  wisely." 

A  week  later  we  entered  the 
36 


The  Return  of  Little  Papita 


silent,    somber    forest,    and    for 
many  days  thereafter  the  trail  of 
our  snowshoes  lay  through  it  or 
upon  the  frozen  river,  until  we 
came  to  the  stream  that  led  us 
to  the  great  Lake  Meskenan.     At 
the  Indian  trappers'  camps,  where 
we  stopped,  our  inquiries  about 
LaMarche  met  with  the  one  re- 
sponse; he  had  not  passed  that 
way. 

A  deep  gloom  settled  upon 
Honore;  he  spoke  but  little  and 
brooded  over  his  trouble.  When 
our  camp-fire  at  night  sent  danc- 
ing shadows  far  into  the  forest,  he 
went  forth  and  knelt  long  and 
reverently  in  the  snow,  and  with 
simple  faith  offered  up  supplica- 
tions to  the  Holy  Virgin  to  restore 
to  him  his  child. 

Near  the  shores  of  the  great 
lake  we  built  a  camp  of  spruce 
37 


II 


.l',;ll 


li  ' 


I  lil 


!         .1' 


til  \h<i  i'i 
li'  I  'I  i  li.ii 

II'  '  ii 


The  Return  of  Little  Papita 

logs  and  set  our  trails  of  dead-falls 
for  many  miles.  The  season  and 
fortune  favored  us  at  first,  and  our 
camp  was  hung  with  stretched 
pelts;  but  as  the  season  of  Christ- 
mas approached  fierce  storms 
swept  over  the  lake,  and  drove 
the  snow  in  wild  confusion  far  into 
the  forest.  Our  traps  were  buried , 
but  it  mattered  little,  for  no  animal 
moved.  The  cree-cree  of  nuthatch 
was  alone  heard  above  the  winds. 
Honore  now  took  to  carving 
strange  things  out  of  wood  that 
bore  fanciful  resemblances  to  dolls 
and  animals.  He  also  dressed 
some  beaver-skins  and  fashioned 
them  into  queer  garments,  but  he 
vouchsafed  no  information  and  I 
refrained  from  questioning  him. 
But  I  understood.  He  had  not 
given  up  hope. 

Two  days  before  Christmas  I 

38 


The  Return  of  Little  Papita 


packed  a  few  necessaries,  and  an- 
nounced to  Honore  that  I  in- 
tended crossing  the  mountains 
into  the  valley  of  the  Amiscouakhi 
to  look  for  caribou  wherewith  to 
make  our  Christmas  dinner,  for 
meat  had  now  become  a  scarcity 
in  camp. 

"The  bon  Dieu  be  with  you, 
master,  and  bring  you  back  safe. 
You  will  also  look  for  '  the  trail'?" 
And  Honore  with  a  deep  sigh 
turned  again  to  his  carving. 

Near  the  dusk  of  the  Christmas 
eve  I  labored  up  the  valley  of  the 
Amiscouakhi  under  a  heavy  bur- 
den of  caribou  meat,  but  my  mind 
had  turned  to  the  Christmas  times 
of  long  ago,  and  recalling  some  bit 
of  boyish  pleasantry,  I  laughed 
aloud.  An  answering  cry  came 
back— so  weird,  so  penetrating  in 
the  keen,  still  air,  so  unlike  that  of 
39 


1 

9 

1 

j 

i 

111 

■  Ijlillfl 

The  Return  of  Little  Papita 

an  animal,  so  unlike  anything  that 
I  could  recall,  that  I  instantly 
dropped  my  pack,  cocked  my  rifle, 
and  stood  at  guard.  Again  the 
cry,  but  fainter;  and  now  it  bore  a 
human  sound.  Nevertheless  I 
advanced  cautiously,  and  pushed 
aside  the  branches  of  a  little  bal- 
sam thicket.  There,  before  me, 
was  a  small  birch-bark  tepee,  half 
buried  in  the  snow.  Opening  the 
flap  I  peered  into  the  darkened 
interior. 

A  child's  voice,  querulous  with 
illness,  said :  "  Is  that  you,  ma- 
man?    Papita  cold  and  hung^." 

For  an  instant  I  stood  trans- 
fixed with  astonishment,  and  then 
I  replied : 

"  No,  little  one;  it  is  not  maman, 
but  some  one  who  has  come  to 
take  you  to  papa." 

Tearing  a  piece  of  birch-bark: 
40 


The  Return  of  Little  Papita 


from  the  wall,  I  made  a  torch. 
Under  a  pile  of  old  rags  and  skins 
lay  the  little  creature.  Her  wan 
face  was  uplifted  to  mine,  and  in 
her  dark  eyes  was  an  expression 
of  great  wonder.  Taking  off  my 
coat  I  enveloped  her  in  its 
warmth,  and  giving  her  a  biscuit 
to  eat,  I  made  haste  with  a  fire, 
and  prepared  food,  which  I  gave 
her  sparingly,  but  often. 

I  could  only  read  the  story  from 

the  signs  about  the  camp;  but  it 

was  not  an  unusual  one  in  the 

cruel    and     hungry     Northland. 

The  child,  too  ill  to  travel  with, 

had    been    abandoned    by     La 

Marche  and  the  mother  to  save 

themselves   from   starvation,   for 

there  was  little  evidence  of  food 

about  the  camp;  LaMarche's  hunt 

had  been  a  failure,  and  the  pair 

had  fled  before  the  avenger. 

4« 


i 


M\ 


;'■   l' 


!1  ■';,■! 


I  J 


The  Return  of  Little  Papita 

Papita  soon  nestled  into  my 
arms  and  fell  into  sound  slumber, 
and  I  held  her  there  until  the  dawn 
of  Christmas  Day.  I  started 
early,  little  Papita  packed  in  the 
caribou-skin  and  slung  over  my 
back.  Never  seemed  a  Christmas 
more  joyous,  as  I  gayly  trudged 
over  the  mountain  with  visions 
floating  through  my  brain  of  the 
coming  reunion  and  the  Christmas 
feast  to  properly  celebrate  the  day. 

I  approached  our  cabin  silently 
and  was  about  to  lift  the  latch, 
when  Honore's  voice  reached  me : 

"  O  Mother  of  Heaven,  upon 
this  day  hallowed  by  the  birth  of 
Christ,  have  pity  and  compassion 
upon  my  sins  and  give  me  back 
my  child !" 

And  I  made  answer : 

Commit   thy   way   unto   the 


4* 


(( ( 


The  Return  of  Little  Papita 


Lord;  trust  also  in  him;  and  he  shall 
bring  it  to  pass*  " 

Opening  the  door  I  placed  the 
tiny  bundle  in  the  father's  arms. 
Overwhelmed  with  the  great  joy 
which   had   come   to   him,   tears 
rolled   down    his    cheeks   as    he 
pressed  the  wee  mite  to  his  breast. 
The  story  was  soon  told.    Little 
Papita,  now  clothed  in  all  the  gor- 
geousness  of  beaver  raiment  and 
propped  up  on  piles  of  furs,  sur- 
rounded by  the  toys  of  Honore's 
workmanship,    prattled   away   in 
childish  glee,  while  Honore  and  I 
made  busy  in  preparing  a  dinner 
which  was  tc  be  a  landmark  in 
memory   for   the   many   strange 
dishes  we  served  under  familiar 
names,  not  forgetting  a  plum  pud- 
ding, with  wild  cranberries  as  sub- 
stitute for  the  raisins,  and  a  spray 
of  pembina  to  replace  the  holly. 
43 


Mam! 


tfj 


Mamselle  Jarbeau*s  Burglar 


Mamj 

APP 

shoema 

He  enj( 

parity  z 

ordinary 

He  had 

washed 

den.    H 

the  few 

daily  bre 

the  pea  s 

of  salt  pc 

suit  of  c 

Sundays 

hlz  .ieigh 

all  marri 

geny,  Aj 


f  ' 


Mamselle  Jarbeau's  Burglar 

A  PPOLION  NANTEAU 
-^  was  the  stone-breaker  and 
shoemaker    in    Terre     Blanche. 
He  enjoyed  only  the  same  pros- 
perity as  falls  to  the  lot  of  the 
ordinary  laborer  in  that  parish. 
He  had  inherited  his  tiny  white- 
washed cabane  and  its  tinier  gar- 
den.   His  labor  supplied  him  with 
the  few  necessities  of  life— the 
daily  bread  and  the  graisse  de  roti, 
the  pea  soup  with  its  modest  piece 
of  salt  pork,  and  tea;  also  a  decent 
suit  of  clothes  for  mass-going  on 
Sundays  and  holidays.      Unlike 
h!:  .ieighbors,  however,  who  were 
all  married,  with  numerous  pro- 
geny, Appolion  was  a  bachelor. 

47 


I  ! 


IH 


Mamselle  Jarbeau*s  Burglar 

Now  old  non-marrying  bachelors 
are  held  in  poor  esteem  by  all  the 
fair  sex  in  Terre  Blanche,  and  Ap- 
polion  was  no  exception  to  this 
rule.  Among  the  men  he  enjoyed 
a  certain  distinction.  He  could 
read,  took  a  daily  Quebec  paper, 
and  was  somewhat  of  a  politician. 
He  had  been  known,  even,  to 
argue  a  question  of  morals  with 
good  Cure  Saucier  with  much 
skill.  He  was  further  regarded 
as  being  somewhat  revolutionary. 
He  called  himself  a  liberal,  what- 
ever that  means.  His  occupation 
fitted  well  with  his  naturally  in- 
dolent nature.  From  early  May 
until  the  cold  and  snow  drove  him 
indoors  to  his  shoemaking,  Ap- 
polion  sat  under  the  shade  of  the 
maple  that  stood  sentinel  on  the 
roadside  at  the  top  of  the  big  hill 
that   led    from    and    into   Terre 


Mamselle  Jarbeau's  Burglar 


Blanche,  and  plied  his  hammer 
upon  the  piles  of  stone  gathered 
there  to  be  broken  up  for  mac- 
adamizing the  hill  road.     It  was 
a  fine  point  of  vantage.     The  vil- 
lage lay  directly  beneath,  and  the 
big  river  ran  on  and  on  until  lost 
in  the  mists  of  distance.      The 
cove  which  harbored  vast  rafts  of 
pine  from  the  Ottawa  extended 
well  into  the  little  river.     In  the 
soft  droning  days  of  summer  the 
c-r-i-c-k-r-i-c-i-c  of  busy  axes  was 
borne  to  Appolion's  ears  and  the 
ye-he-yo-o   as    giant    logs    were 
turned  over  to  receive  their  dress- 
ing.   From  the  open  windows  of 
the  convent  school  came  the  hum 
of  children's  voices  at  recitation, 
while  from  many  open  doorways 
the  whirr  of   busy   housewives' 
spinning-wheels  and  cradle-songs 
mingled  through  the  day  with  the 

49 


Mamselle  Jarbeau*s  Burglar 


■i'. 


m 


wild  bird  melody  in  the  maple  tree 
overhead.  It  was  a  spot  to  in- 
duce philosophizing  and  bjget 
day-dreams.  Appolion  indulged 
in  both  when  he  was  not  other- 
wise engaged  in  discussing  poli- 
tics with  M'sieu'  Clarisse,  who 
came  often  for  that  purpose,  he 
being  a  stanch  conservative  as  be- 
fitted his  position  as  a  rentier. 

Those  who  climbed  the  hill  on 
their  way  from  the  village  found  it 
necessary  to  take  a  breathing- 
spell  at  its  top,  and  this  also  g^ve 
Appolion  a  breathing-spell  from 
his  work,  although  he  was  oft- 
times  quite  breathless  before  his 
auditor  wished  him  bon  jour  and 
went  on  his  way  again. 

Appolion    had    reached    fifty 

when  the  calm  placidity  of  his  life 

was  interrupted  by  the  death  of 

his  sister  and  housekeeper.     Im- 

50 


1 


Mamselle  Jarbeau's  Burglar 


mediately  there  fell  a  blight  upon 
him.     Man  after  all  is  a  helpless 
creature  without  the  good  right 
arm  of  woman.      Appolion's  me- 
nage went  all  awry.     His  pea  soup 
was  often  burned  now,  and  his 
loaf  of  bread  grew  stale  and  taste- 
less before  it   was   finished.     It 
was  decidedly  uncomfortable  and 
dreary  in  the  disorderly  and  lone- 
some little  house.     The  tiny  gar- 
den that  had  always  blossomed 
with  peonies,  asters,  dahlias,  and 
hollyhocks  was  rank  and  choked 
with  weeds.     The  bobolink  that 
hung  outside  the  door  through 
the  summer,  Appolion  gave  to 
p'tite  Zelia,  a  neighbor's  daughter. 
It  required  all  of  his  philosophy  to 
reconcile  him  to  life  during  these 
dismal  days.     He   continued   to 
pound  away  at  the  stones  under 
the  maple,  but  think  as  he  might 
SI 


!     i 
!     1 


m 


jil 

I?  If 


5 

i 
I 


ps'  V  *fi 


Mamselle  Jarbeau's  Burglar 


he  could  evolve  no  solution  for  his 
perplexities. 

P'tite  Zelia,  in  one  of  her  wan- 
derjahrs  through  the  fields  one 
morning,  came  upon  Appolion  as 
he  was  lighting  his  pipe  for  the 
fifth  time. 

"Bon  jour,  mon  p'tit  choux" 
said  Appolion  with  a  smile,  for 
Zelia  was  an  especial  favorite  with 
him. 

"  I  don't  like  to  be  called  that 
any  more,  M'sieu'  Nanteau. 
Mama  says  that  only  babies  are 
called  pHit  choux.  Vm  not  a  baby, 
and  you  must  call  me  voire  p'tite 
ange." 

"  Oh !  "  exclaimed  Appolion, 
"  that's  the  way  it  must  be.  Well, 
ma  petite  ange,  what  brings  you 
here  this  morning?  " 

Zelia,  flattered,  laughed,  but 
answered  Appolion's  question  by 


^amselle  Jarbeau's  Burglar 

asking  some  others :  "  Do  you 
like  marguerites,  M'sieu'  Nan- 
teau?  I  do,"  holding  up  a  large 
bunch,  "  and  I  can  tell  your  for- 
tune with  them,  too.  Would  you 
like  me  to  tell  your  fortune?  " 

"  Yes,  most  certainly,  ma  petite 
ange,"  replied  Appolion. 

Zelia  came  close  to  Appolion, 
seated  herself  on  the  last  fresh 
mound  of  broken  stone,  and  with 
much  deliberation  selected  the 
largest  and  fullest-petaled  daisy 
from  her  bunch,  and  holding  it 
before  her,  said:  "Now,  you 
mustn't  laugh,  M'sieu'  Nanteau, 
because  that  spoils  the  charm." 

"  I'll  be  as  serious  as  a  crow," 
answered  Appolion. 

"  She  loves  you,"  pulling  oflf  a 
petal,  "  she  loves  you  not,"  pull- 
ing oflf  another,  and  so  on  until 
the  last  one,   "She   loves  you. 
53 


I 


Maniselle  Jarbeau's  Burglar 


li 


\yfi 


Ah !  ha !"  cried  Zelia,  bobbing  her 
wise  Httle  head  exultingly,  "  she 
loves  you,  M'sieu'  Nanteau." 

"  Who  is  she,  ma  pHite?  "  asked 
Appolion. 

"Ma  p'tite  ange,  don't  forget, 
M'sieu'  Nanteau,  or  I  won't  tell 
you." 

"Ma  p'tite  ange,  then,  who  is 
this  she?" 

"  Why  don't  you  know,  M'sieu' 
Nanteau?" 

"  How  can  I  know  when  you 
haven't  told  me?"  said  Appolion. 

"  Well,  then,  it's  Mamselle  Jar- 
beau,"  and  Zelia  went  into  fits  of 
laughter. 

"  Mamselle  Jarbeau,"  sniffed 
Appolion,  "and  what  put  that 
into  your  head,  stupide?  " 

"Ma  p'tite  ange,  you  mean, 
M'sieu'  Nanteau.  Well,  I  heard 
mama  tell  Madame  Sylvain  last 

54 


!  li 


Mamselle  Jarbeau's  Burglar 

night  that  it  was  a  pity  you  didn't 
catch  that  old  cat,  Mamselle  Jar- 
beau,  and  tame  her,  and  that  she 
would  soon  sing  a  different  tune 
after  you  had  cut  her  claws.     Ma- 
dame Sylvain  said  she  thought 
Mamselle  Jarbeau  would  do  some 
scratching  before  she  was  caught, 
but  if  any  one  could  tame  her  she 
thought  you  could,  and  it  would 
be  a  good  thing  for  you,  too.    Do 
old  maids  have  to  be  tamed  and 
have  their  nails  cut,  M'sieu'  Nan- 
teau,   when    they    get    married? 
I'm  not  going  to  be  an  old  maid. 
Old  maids  are  tiresome.     If  I  stop 
to  look  over  Mamselle  Jarbeau's 
fence,  she  always  calls  out  to  me, 
'  VVell,  what  do  you  want? '  and  I 
run  away.     Do  you  think  you  can 
tame  her,  M'sieu'  Nanteau?" 

But  this  sudden  opening  of  a 
new  world  of  ideas  to  Appolion 
55 


Ml 


f  4 


Mamselle  Jarbeau's  Burglar 


paralyzed  his  speech,  and  he  sat 
there  staring  into  Zelia's  face  with 
such  a  foolish  grin  upon  his  own 
as  to  send  that  young  lady  into 
peals  of  laughter.  This  roused 
Appolion  to  say :  "  Tete  singe,  if 
you  don't  run  away  home  after  all 
that  nonsense,  I'll  come  for  that 
bobolink  this  evening." 

And  Zelia,  afraid  to  lose  her 
bird,  scurried  down  the  hill  and 
across  the  fields  as  fast  as  her  short 
legs  would  carry  her. 

When  Urbain  Clarisse  came 
puffing  up  the  hill  a  half-hour  later 
for  his  usual  political  argument, 
he  found  Appolion  still  sitting  idle 
under  the  maple  with  !  is  mouth 
open  and  staring  into  vacancy. 
So  preoccupied  was  he  that  he  vir- 
tually admitted  the  force  of  his 
opponent's  arguments  by  several 
times  saying,  "  Cest  correct"  but 

56 


Li 


Mamselle  Jarbeau's  Burglar 


when  Urbain  brought  his  final 
clincher  and  Appolion's  reply  was, 
"  Cest  drole  Ca,"  Urbain  stalked 
off  in  disgust,  muttering  under  his 
breath,  "  Bah !  this  Appolion  is  a 
fool;  he  has  gone  craque" 

Mamselle    Jarbeau    and    mar- 
riage continued  to  occupy  Ap- 
polion's thoughts  for  the  remain- 
der of  the  day.     Not  that  Cupid, 
in  the  disguise  of  Zelia,  had  sud- 
denly transfixed  him  with  a  dart 
and  sent  a  convulsive  wave  of  love 
surging  through  his  heart.      Ap- 
polion and  Cupid  had  not  even  a 
chance  acquaintance.     It  was  the 
vista  of  well-cooked  meals,  the 
most  imposing  house  in   Terre 
Blanche,  an  independence  from  all 
further     labor,     that     suddenly 
opened  before  Appolion.     It  was 
true  Mamselle  Jarbeau  bore  no 
character  for  amiability,  while  her 
57 


■^ 

(^^■^ 

'i 

If 

I'll 


Mamselle  Jarbeau*s  Burglar 

appearance,  if  not  actually  forbid- 
ding, was  at  least  far  from  attract- 
ive.    But    she    was    rich.     Ap- 
polion's  eyes,  for  the  rest  of  the 
day,  when  raised  from  his  work, 
sought  the  sumptuous  dwelling  of 
Mamselle  Jarbeau  with  a  certain 
light  of  satisfaction;  but  whenever 
Mamselle  herself  appeared  in  her 
garden,  tall,  erect,  and  severe  in 
manner,  dressed  in  the  half-mas- 
culine attire  that  she  affected,  Ap- 
polion  winced,  and  his  heart  sank 
within  him.     "  This  matter  must 
be  well  thought  out,"  said  he  to 
himself.     The  capture  and  tam- 
ing of  Mamselle  Jarbeau  was  no 
task  to  be  enterec^  lightly  upon. 
Had  he  not  overheard  Dery,  a  few 
days  before,  telling  the  English- 
man   that    "  Mamselle    was   ver 
queer  ole  gal,  wicked  lak  de  deb- 
bil,  an'  wan  she  go  on  her  bed  on 
58 


Mamselle  Jarbeau*s  Burglar 


de  night  tarn  she  'ave  two  pistil 
onder  her  pil'.  Any  man  wat 
brok  troo  her  'ouse  ave  mooch 
troub'  an'  get  kill  for  sure."  This 
conquest  of  Mamselle  Jarbeau 
must  be  by  cunning  siege  or  a 
bold  assault  on  the  citadel  of  her 
affection. 

Appolion's  behavior  for  several 
weeks  thereafter,  if  it  did  not  indi- 
cate a  ni<  n  in  love,  was  otherwise 
suspicious.  After  dark  he  would 
pace  back  and  forth  before  the  Jar- 
beau  house,  peering  into  the  win- 
dows. Once,  while  he  was  stand- 
ing at  the  fence  gazing  into  the 
back  kitchen,  Mamselle  came  sud- 
denly upon  him.  Appolion  man- 
aged to  stammer  out  a  bon  soir, 
Mamselle,  but  not  before  she  had 
shut  and  bolted  her  door  for  the 
night.  Like  a  cautious  general, 
Appolion  was  only  surveying  the 
59 


I    i 


l>    V 


Mamselle  Jarbeau*s  Burglar 


field  of  coming  action,  but  as  yet 
dared  not  advance  his  forces  until 
the  strength  of  the  enemy  was 
further  revealed. 

Madame  Tardif,  Zelia's  mother, 
watched  Appolion's  proceedings 
with  amused  interest.  "  He  will 
succeed  yet,"  said  she  to  herself, 
softly  laughing. 

One    day    Appolion    went    to 
Quebec,  and  there  he  met  some 
convivial    friends.     They    joined 
forces    to    such    good    purpose 
that  when  they  separated  later 
in    the    day    they    exemplified 
that  excellent  motto  of  the  United 
States,  "  United  we  stand,  divided 
we  fall,"  but  Appolion  once  in  his 
cart  was  safe,  for  his  old  Belle 
mare  was  accustomed   to   these 
periodic  town  vaeraries  of  her  mas- 
ter and  governed  herself  accord- 
ingly by  going  quietly  home  of 
te 


Mamselle  Jarbeau*s  Burglar 


her  own  accord  while  Appolion 
slept  serenely  through  the  journey 
in  the  bottom  of  his  cart.     Some- 
what refreshed  by  his  long  nap, 
and  braced  by  another  pull  at  a 
small  flask  he  carried,  Appolion 
upon  arriving  home,  felt  himself  in 
condition    for    adventure.      His 
thoughts  turned  to  Mamselle  Jar- 
beau.     Why  not  try  his  fortune 
then  and  there.     He  would,  and 
she  must  succumb  to  his  advances. 
So  he  took  another  pull  at  the 
flask  and  sallied  forth  full  of  the 
courage  of  conquest.     There  was 
no  hesitation  upon  his  part.     The 
castle  must  be  stormed  and  cap- 
tured at  once.     He  rapped  three 
great    double    raps    upon    the 
knocker  of   Mamselle  Jarbeau's 
door     There  was  no  response. 
Agam  he  rapped.     Still  no  one 
answered.     "She    is   out,"   said 

6i 


Mamselle  Jarbeau  s  Burglar 


Appolion  to  himself,  "  but  I  will 
go  iii  and  await  her  coming."  He 
opened  the  door,  stumbled  into 
the  darkened  bouse,  found  his  way 
into  the  parlo%  and  sank  into  a 
chair.  The  monconous  tick, 
tick  of  a  big  clock  bnt  emphasized 
the  stillness  of  the  room.  From 
somewhat  disjointed  thinking  Ap- 
polion fell  to  dozing,  and  from 
dozing  into  sound  slumber. 

Mamselle  Jarbeau,  returning 
home  somewhat  later,  locked  and 
barred  the  door  for  the  night,  took 
the  candlestick  from  the  hall  table, 
and  marched  upstairs  to  her  bed- 
room. 

The  two  "  pistil  "  were  carefully 
placed  under  the  "  pil',"  the 
rosary  was  said,  and  Mamselle  re- 
tired to  her  virtuous  couch  with 
no    thought    of   the    impending 


62 


M^msdle  Jarheau's  Burglar 
events  so  soon  to  follow,  and  she 


too,  Goon  feli  a 


si 


eep. 
Now  a  chair,  as  we  all  know, 
hcH'/ever  comfortable  for  a  short 
after-dinner  snooze,  becomes  full 
of  kinks  for  a  longer  sleep,  and  be- 
get =;  restlessness,  and  finally  wake- 
fulness.     About    midnight    Ap- 
polion  half  waked  with  a  violently 
stiflf  neck,  but  quite  forgetful  that 
he  was  in  other  than  his  own 
house.     He  arose,  stretched  him- 
self to  take  out  some  of  the  knots 
yawned,    and    said    to    himself:' 
"Ugh!  IVe  been  dreaming,  FH 
^o  to  bed  now,"  but  with  his  first 
step  forward  he  stumbled  over  a 
chair.      This  roused  him  some- 
what, but  the  next  instant  over 

went  a  small  table  and  its  contents 
The  crash  thoroughly  awakened 
Appc  V  ;;  it  also  awakened  Mam- 
"-^He  jarbeau.  Appolion  heard 
63 


Mamselle  Jarbeau's  Bu  rglar 


f!f  ; 


the  latter  jump  out  of  bed,  strike  a 
match,  a  hurried  scuffling  of  feet, 
and  then  a  door  at  the  head  of  the 
stairs  opened,  the  glimmer  of  a 
light  appeared,  and  Mamselle  de- 
manded :  "  Who  is  there?  quick, 
or  I  will  shoot." 

Appolion  had  reached  the  hall, 
had  his  hand  on  the  door-knob, 
but  the  door  refused  of  course  to 
yield.  At  the  dread  summons  his 
hair  fairly  stood  on  end  with 
fright. 

"  For  the  love  of  God,  Mam- 
selle, don't  shoot!  It's  me,  Ap- 
polion Nanteau." 

By  this  time  Mamselle  was 
descending  the  stairs  with  up- 
raised candle  in  one  hand  and  a 
revolver  threateningly  extended 
in  the  other.  "  Don't  you  stir," 
said  she,  "  or  I'll  fire.  So,  M'sieu' 
Nanteau,  this  is  why  you've  been 
64 


Mamselle  Jarbeau's  Burglar 

hanging  around  my  house  lately, 
but  I've  got  you  now,  and  I'm 
goimr  to  keep  you." 

Appolion's  teeth  were  chatter- 
ing in  his  head  with  dread  at  the 
end  of  this  adventure.     All  sorts 
of     fearful     consequences     con- 
fronted him.     His  able  general- 
ship quite  deserted  him  at  the 
mouth  of  that  revolver  and  its 
resolute  owner.     He  could  only 
stammer   out:     "I   call   all   the 
angels  of  heaven  to  witness,  Mam- 
selle, that  I  did  not  break  into  the 
house.     I  came—I  came,  Mam- 
selle, to  ask  you  to  marry  me." 

"  A  likely  story  indeed,  M'sieu' 
Nanteau,  but  I  don't  think  you'll 
get  any  one  to  believe  it,"  inter- 
rupted Mamselle  Jarbeau. 

Appolion,  with  the  grotesque 
and  forbidding  figure  before  him, 
had  to  admit  to  himself,  with  a 
65 


h   i 


i        fA 


Mamselle  Jarheau's  Burglar 


sinking  heart,  that  it  was  hardly 
likely  that  any  one  would  give  him 
credit  for  an>  such  desire. 

Whether  Appolion's  statement 
lessened  Mamselle's  wish  to  shed 
his  blooa  or  not  is  uncertain,  but 
she  now  ordered  him  into  the 
sitting-room,  and  to  seat  himself 
in  a  chair  while  she  took  another 
one  opposite. 

"  I'm  going  to  keep  you  here 
until  morning,"  said  she,  "then 
I'll  hand  vou  over  to  the  coii- 
stable." 

Appolion  shivered,  '  nt  hy  this 
time  his  wits  were  alive  again. 
"  If  you,  Mamselle  will  r<;:ce  me 
to  Cure  Saucier  now,  this  ureadful 
mis— I  mean  this  awful  blun— 
what  I  would  say  is,  Mamselle 
that  I  love  yon,  and— aid  I  wil 
marry  you.      M'sieu'  le  cure  will 
understand." 

66 


Mamselle  Jarbeau's  Burglar 


Who  knows  the  innermost  re- 
cesses of  a  woman's  beart—what 
romance  or  sentiment  may  be  hid- 
den from  all  human  sight  or  prob- 
ing? Mamselle  seemed  to  be  con- 
sidering for  some  moments,  then 
she  said,  with  decision  : 

''Bon!  we  will  go.  Put  on 
your  hat,  M'sieu'  Nan'eau,  and 
walk  ahead  of  me,  but  no  oo  far, 
and  mind  you,  dun't  you  at  >mpt 
to  run  away." 

In  Appolion's  wholesome  fea. 
of  Mamselle's  revolver  there  was 
little  danger  of  this  happenmg. 

Mamselle  rang  the  door-bell  of 
the  presbythe  with  vigor.  A 
moment  after  a  window  opened 
and  Cure  Saucier  called  out  • 

"  Hello ! " 

"  It's  me,  Father  Saucier,  and 
I've  go.  a  burglar." 

"But    this    isn't    the    lockup, 
67 


:i 

Si 

n 


I 


'tl 


Mamselle  Jarbeau's  Burglar 


Mamselle  Jarbeau.  Take  your 
burglar  to  Le  Fort,  the  con- 
stable," said  Cure  Saucier. 

"  But  he  says  he  isn't  a  burglar, 
Father,  and  that  he  can  explain 
everything  to  you,"  replied  Mam- 
selle. 

"Yes,  Father  Saucier,  you 
know  that  I,  Appolion  Nanteau, 
am  no  burglar." 

"  What,  you,  Nanteau?  Well, 
well,  ril  be  down  in  a  moment." 
As  soon  as  the  cure  opened  the 
door,  Mamselle,  still  revolver  in 
hand,  marched  the  trembling  Ap- 
polion into  the  house. 

The  absurd  appearance  of  the 
couple  would  have  sent  a  man  less 
well  trained  than  the  cure,  to  keep 
his  emotions  under  control,  into 
fits  of  laughter.  Mamselle  still 
wore  her  nightcap,  a  jupon  took 
the  place  of  a  skirt,  and  a  man's 
68 


W 


coat  but  ill-concealed  a  night- 
gown beneath,  while  a  pair  of  car- 
pet slippers  adorned  her  feet. 

Appolion,  cowed  and  crestfall- 
en, with  an  abject  fear  of  Mam- 
selle  showing  in  every  line  of  his 
countenance,  was  such  an  absurd 
object  that  the  cure  felt  himself  at 
last  fully  revenged  upon  Appolion 
for  having  ventured  to  argue 
morals  with  him. 

"  Now,  Mamselle,  put  that  re- 
volver down,  please;  it  makes  me 
nervous.  And  what  is  the  mean- 
ing of  this  visit?  "  demanded  the 
cure,  with  what  gravity  he  could 
command. 

"She  says  I'm  a  burglar, 
Father;  I,  who  want  to  many 
her,    blurted  out  Nanteau. 

"  Oh !  I  see.  Mamselle  accuses 
you  then  of  trying  to  break  in 
upon  her  affections,  and,"  gazing 


f  t 


'liji 


If  ■• 


1 

1 


Mamselle  Jarbeau's  Burglar 


somewhat  fixedly  at  Mamselle, 
"  some  people  might  consider  this 
in  the  light  of  a  crime,  but  not  the 
law,"  said  the  cure. 

"What,"  exclaimed  Mamselle 
Jarbeau,  "not  for  a  man  to  be 
caught  in  a  single  woman's  house 
after  midnight?" 

"Most  highly  improper,  of 
course,"  replied  the  cure  with  a 
twinkle  in  his  eye,  "  and  it  might 
give  rise  to  scandal;  but  such  con- 
duct is  criminal  only  in  the  eyes  of 
the  Church,  Mamselle." 

"  But  I  didn't  bring  him  there, 
Father;  I  found  him  there." 

"  I  am  afraid  you  might  find  it 
difficult  to  make  people  believe 
it,"  dryly  rbserved  his  reverence. 
"Come,  Nanteau,  explain  this 
mystery." 

Whereupon     Appolion,     with 
many  protestations  as  to  the  inno- 
70 


cence  of  his  motives,  related  the 
occurrences  of  the  night,  ending 
by  declaring  that  he  was  ready  to 
marry  Mamsdle  at  once. 
"Me  marry? "  said  Mamselle 

Jarbeau.    "  Why,  I  never  thought 

of  such  a  thing,  Father." 
"More  than  likely,"  replied  the 

cure;     but  the  experience  of  this 

n.ght,     Mamselle,     must     have 

i°n1"  ^°"  ^^^  '^^^^'  °'  "^'"^ 
Mamselle  rather  sniffed  at  this 
and  would  have  answered,  but  the 
cure  continued : 

"  What  you  need,  Mamselle  is 
a  protector,  a  husband,  a  go^d, 
steady  man  like  Appolion  here 
who  has  shown  his  bravery  to- 
n>ght  in  so  conspicuous  a  man- 

Appolion    wondered    whether 
this  speech  of  the  cure's  was  to  be 
T 


ii 


i     ! 


Ir'i 


i  i 


Mamselle  Jarbeau*s  Burglar 

construed  as  a  compliment  to  his 
courage  in  aspiring  to  Mamselle's 
hand  or  was  a  bit  of  sarcasm  lev- 
eled at  him  for  having  been 
marched  away  at  the  mouth  of  a 
revolver. 

Mamselle  evidently  chose  the 
latter  view  of  the  case,  and  grimly 
smiled. 

"To-morrow,"  went  on  the 
cure,  "  you  will  go  with  me  to  the 
city,  Appolion,  for  a  special  dis- 
pensation from  the  banns  and  for 
a  license.  And  you,  Mamselle, 
will  be  ready  to  be  married  the  fol- 
lowing morning." 

"  But,  Father,  it  is  all  so  sud- 
den," said  Mamselle,  evidently 
weakening. 

"  You  have  both  wasted  many 
years,  and  now  there  is  no  time  to 
be  lost.  Let  it  be  as  I  say,"  re- 
plied the  cure.     "  Appolion,  you 


Mamselle  Jarbeau's  Burglar 

will  escort  Mamselle  home,"  and, 
handing  him  the  revolver,  "  take 
this  for  Mamselle's  protection, 
and  see  to  it  that  there  is  no  other 
burglar  in  the  house.  I  wish  you 
both  joy  and  good  night." 

The  next  morning  as  the  cure 
and  Appolion  passed  on  their  way 
to  the  city.  Madam  Tardif  caught 
sight  of  them.  She  laughed 
aloud.  "  The  taming  of  Mam- 
selle Jarbeau  has  already  com- 
menced," said  she  to  herself. 


I  i 


73 


Th 


<■»  wieimems-JAi 


The  Tragedy  of  Anse  aux 
Canards 


Ti 


A' 

slowl; 

throa 
"B 

again 

What 

to  kn< 

ruins? 

a  stor} 

I've  j 

would 

tion,  j 

I  wak( 

wind  t 

upon  tl 


The  Tragedy  of  Anse  aux 
Canards 

A  FTER  allowing  a  good  half- 
^  ^  gill  of  whisky  to  gurgle 
slowly  and  pleasurably  down  his 
throat,  old  Narcisse  said: 

''Bon,  that  puts  the  fire  of  life 
again  into  an  old  man's  heart. 
What  was  it  that  M'sieu'  wanted 
to  know?     The  history  of  these 
ruins?    Thunder  of  God !    Such 
a  story!     If  it  was  not  for  the  C(?w/, 
I've  just   taken   my   old   blood 
would  creep  again  at  the  recollec- 
tion, just  as  it  always  does  when 
I  wake  in  the  night,  and  the  east 
wind  blows,  and  the  surf  booms 
upon  the  rocks  off  the  point." 

77 


•r''f 


Tragedy  of  Anse  aux  Canards 

Here  Narcisse  went  into  a  pro- 
found revery,  during  which  I 
passed  him  my  tobacco-pouch, 
from  which  he  quite  unconscious- 
ly filled  his  pipe,  lighted  it,  and 
puffed  away  for  a  few  moments, 
with  no  words  spoken  by  either 
of  us. 

"Mysterious  are  the  ways  of 
God !  "  exclaimed  Narcisse  at  last, 
through  a  dense  cloud  of  smoke,' 
and  then  another  silence. 

I  saw  that  the  old  man  was  busy 
with  the  memories  of  the  past,  and 
I  waited  patiently. 

He  shifted  his  position  uneasily 
once  or  twice,  walked  over  to  the 
little  point  of  rock,  gazed  fixedly 
out  across  the  Anse  into  the 
stormy  waters  of  the  Gulf,  re- 
turned and  sat  down  again,  rest- 
ing his  elbows  upon  his  knees,  and 


78 


holding    his    pipe    dose    to    his 
mouth  with  both  hands,  he  began  : 
"  Child,  boy,  and  man,  I  have 
lived  at  Anse  aux  Canards,  never 
but  once  leaving  it  as  you  shall 
learn.     My    father    and    mother 
came  from  the  Gaspe  coast  and 
settled  here  before  I  was  born. 
Angels  in  heaven !  that  was  a  long 
time  ago.     There  were  no  neigh- 
bors nearer  than  sixty  miles  up 
the    coast.     My    father    hunted 
^eals,  netted  the  salmon  at  the 
mouth  of  the  river,  and  in  winter 
hunted  caribou  and  trapped.  Two 
or  three  times  in  the  summer  a 
tradmg   schooner   from    Quebec 
dropped  anchor  in  the  Anse,  and 
left  us  such  supplies  as  we  needed 
m  exchange  for  our  seal  oil,  skins 
and  salted  fish.    Twice  in  the  win- 
ter, on  his  way  up  and  down  the 
coast,    good    Pere    La   Branche 
79 


Tragedy  of  Anse  aux  Canards 

stopped  a  night  with  us,  heard  our 
confessions  and  said  mass  in  the 
morning,   before   continuing   his 
journey  in  his  dog-sleigh  or  on  his 
snowshoes,  as  it  happened.  Other- 
wise than  this  we  saw  no  one. 
The  Labrador  coast  is  a  lonesome 
one,  as  M'sieu'  knows,  but  we 
never  complained  of  this.     It  was 
only  when  the  seals  were  scarce  or 
fishing  failed  hiu  we  grumbled. 
"There  were  only  two   chil- 
dren,  myself  and   a   sister,   and 
she    died    before    she    reached 
womanhood,  and  my  mother  soon 
followed  her.     My  father  and  I 
stayed  on,  never  thinking  of  leav- 
ing  the    only    home   we    knew. 
When  I  was  twenty-five  my  father 
died,  and  yet  I  remained  here,  fol- 
lowing the  old  life.     The  captains 
of  the  trading  schooners  laughed 
at  me  for  not  taking  a  wife,  but  I 
80 


Tragedy  of  Anse  aux  Carards 

knew  little  of  the  ways  of  women, 
and  it  was  perhaps  as  well.     I  had 
been  living  alone  five  years,  some- 
times craving  for  some  one  to  talk 
with    during    the    long    winter 
nights  of  fierce  storm  when  there 
is  nothing  to  do  but  hug  your  fire 
and  think,  thihk,  until  the  mad- 
ness that  is  always  in  your  veins 
sets  year  brain  in  a  whirl,  and 
things  for  days  become  a  blank. 
They  say  it  is  not  good  to  live 
alone  like  me,  and  that  men  go 
demente,  though  God  knows  more 
women  suffer  thus  on  our  coast. 
"  It  was  September,  early  in  the 
month,  but  already  the  ptarmigan 
and  hares  were  turning  to  white. 
Snow-squalls  and  frost  had  visited 
the  coast.     I  had  gone  up  the 
river  to  the  big  pool  to  bring 
down  my  salmon-nets;  our  rivers 
were  not  leased  in  those  days  to 

8i 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
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1.6 


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■ss^^  Rochester,  NY  14609  USA 
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0 1993,  Applied  Image,  Inc.,  All  Rlghti  Reserved 


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Tragedy  of  Anse  aux  Canard 


s 


les  Americains,  but  it  is  better  as  it 
is,  and  I  am  always  glad  to  see 
you,    M'sieu'.     I    was    hurrying 
back,  for  I  was  daily  expecting 
the  arrival  of  the  schooner  Belle 
Isle  from  Quebec  with  my  winter 
supplies.     When  I  arrived  at  the 
top  of  the  hill  that  overiooked  my 
cabane  I  saw  riding  at  anchor  in 
the  Anse  a  strange  schooner,  big- 
ger than  any  I  had  ever  seen  be- 
fore, and  a  flag  with  many  stars 
and  stripes  was  flying  from  her 
masthead.     She  seemed  full  of 
men,  and  some  of  them  were  low- 
ering a  boat.     Presently  this  boat 
put  off  and  made  for  the  shore. 
I  ran  very  quick  to  hoist  my  flag, 
and  then  waited  on  the  beach  in 
much  wonder. 

"  Two  men  only  landed;  one  I 
knew  to  be  the  captain  of  the 
schooner  from  his  appearance,  the 
8a 


Tragedy  of  Anse  aux  Canards 


other  a  m'sieu'  from  his  dress  and 
air  of  authority.     He  was  tall  and 
dark,  with  flaming  black  eyes  that 
ate  into  your  soul  and  made  you 
creep,  with  a  mouth  that  snapped 
to  like  a  mink-trap  when  he  spoke. 
He  was  perhaps  forty  years  of  age, 
but  I  do  not  know;  his  hair  was 
gray,  but  not  the  gray  of  old  age. 
"  The  captain  spoke  to  me  in 
his    English,    and    I    replied    in 
French  that  I  did  not  understand. 
Then  the  other,  whom  the  captain 
addressed  as  Mr.  Barlow,  turned 
to  me  and  said  to  me  in  good 
French : 

You  live  here? '  pointing  to 
my  cabane. 

"  *  Yes,  M'sieu'.* 

"'And  alone?' 

" '  Yes,  M'sier'.' 

Are  you  much  disturbed  by 
visitors? ' 

83 


i    ! 


?  ! 


Tragedy  of  Anse  aux  Canards 

"*Not  often,  M'sieu';  those 
who  have  no  business  here  give 
our  coast  a  wide  berth,  and  those 
who  have  soon  hurry  away.* 

Who  owns  the  land  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  Anse? ' 
"  *  The  bon  Dieu,  M'sieu'.' 
" '  No  better  title,*  he  replied, 
with  a  curl  of  his  lip. 

"'And  your  name,  my  good 
friend?' 

"  'Narcisse  Le  Clair.' 

"*That  will  do,  Narcisse;  we 
will  know  each  other  better  by 
and  by.* 

"  I  was  puzzled  by  this  speech, 
but  his  appearance  did  not  invite 
questioning.  Instead  of  rowing 
back  to  the  schooner  they  made 
across  the  Anse  and  landed. 
After  walking  about  some  time 
they  drove  some  sticks  into  the 


84 


^■'*i ' 


Tragedy  of  Anse  aux  Canards 


ground,    and    then    they    were 
rowed  back  to  the  schooner. 

"  Immediately  upon  their  ar- 
rival there  was  a  great  commo- 
tion.     While  some  of  the  men 
busied  themselves  in  making  the 
schooner  snug,  as  though  for  a 
long  stay,  others  were  lowering 
boats  and  loading  them,  and  some 
were  throwing  overboard  timbers 
of  diflFerent  kinds.    I  watched  the 
work  the  long  day,  so  strange  and 
curious  were  all  these  movements. 
Ev-    thing  taken  off  the  schooner 
wao   Glided  near  the  spot  staked 
off  by  the  two  men.    No  one  came 
near  me  again,  and  I  remained  in 
ignorance  of  what  it  all  meant. 

"The  following  morning  I 
crossed  the  Anse  and  found  some 
ten  or  twelve  men  breaking  out 
stone  and  preparing  lumber,  but 
as  not  a  man  among  them  spoke 
8s 


Tragedy  of  Anse  aux  Canard? 


French  I  could  only  sit  and  smoke 
and  watch.  By  and  by  the  cap- 
tain and  Mr.  Barlow  came  ashore, 
and  the  latter,  after  gfiving  some 
instructions  to  the  men,  turned  to 
me  and  said : 

"*Well,  my  brave  Narcisse, 
what  do  you  think  of  this  as  a  site 
for  a  house?' 

"  *  A  house,  M'sieu*,  for  whom? 
No  one  wants  to  live  at  Anse  aux 
Canards.' 

Perhaps  not,  perhaps  not ; 
but  you  will  soon  have  neighbors, 
nevertheless.' 

"*And  might  I  ask,  M'sieu', 
who  they  will  be?' 

Oh,'  replied  he  with  a  snap 
of  his  mouth,  'all  in  good  time,  my 
brave  Narcisse,'  and  he  walked 
away  to  direct  some  of  the  men. 
"  The  season  for  trapping  was 
now  commenced,  and  I  could  de- 
86 


Tragedy  of  Anse  aux  Canards 


lay  no  longer.      The  next  day  I 
set  out  up  the  little  river  to  the 
lakes  at  its  source.     I  was  absent 
some  three  weeks.     Upon  my  re- 
turn I  saw  that  the  schooner  had 
departed,  but  on  the  site  staked 
out  there  stood  a  long  low  house 
and   several   large  outbuildings, 
and  smoke  was  curling  upward 
from  the  chimney  of  the  house.     I 
had  killed  a  caribou  on  my  way 
down,  and  as  I  was  all  impatience 
to  know  my  neighbors,  I  cut  off 
some  steaks  as  a  gift  and  as  an 
excuse  for  my  visit,  and  paddled 
across  the  Anse.  Before  I  reached 
the  door  of  the   house  it   was 
opened,  and  to  my  astonishment 
Mr.  Barlow  came  out. 

"  'Ah,  my  brave  Narcisse,  then 
you  did  not  run  away  after  all ;  but 
come  in,*  and  so  saying  he  almost 
elbowed  me  into  the  house. 
87 


^' 


1  ! 


li 


Tragedy  of  Anse  aux  Canards 

"Bon    Dieuf    such    a    house. 
There  were  shelves  and  shelves  of 
books  in  the  room  we  entered,  and 
above  them  every  inch  of  wall  was 
hung  with  pictures.     The  floor 
was  covered  with  carpet,  not  like 
our  catalagne,  but  thick  and  soft 
like  a  bear's  skin,  and  there  were 
tables   covered   with  ornaments, 
and  soft  chairs,  and  much  silver  on 
a  buffet.    Such  things  I  had  never 
seen   before,   and  I  stood  there 
gasping  like  a  fresh-landed  sal- 
mon. 

"*And  you  have  brought  us 
some  fresh  meat.     That  is  well, 
and  now  you  will  drink  the  health 
of  your  new  neighbors,'  and  step- 
ping to  the  buffet,  Mr.  Barlow 
poured  me  out  half  a  tumbler  of 
whisky.     'But  wait,'  he  added. 
'  Madame  would  like  to  be  pres- 
ent.*   Here  he  called  out  *  Clare.' 
88 


|.p'aR'.fiB» . 


m 


Tragedy  of  Anse  aux  Canards 

Almost  immediately  there  entered 
the  room  a  woman  so  beautiful 
that  to  me  she  seemed  like  one  of 
those  madonnas  Pere  La  Branche 
had  once  shown  me  pictures  of  in 
a  book,  but  the  face  was  sad,  so 
sad  I  could  have  wept. 

Clare,  this  is  Narcisse,  our 
neighbor,  and  he  would  drink 
your  health,'  said  Mr.  Barlow  in 
French. 

"Mrs.  Barlow  smiled  and 
nodded.  I  thought  I  saw  tears  in 
her  eyes,  but  I  was  too  confused 
to  feel  certain,  for  the  husband's 
eyes  were  searching  my  very  soul 
with  a  look  that  made  me  squirm. 
I  could  only  stammer  out,  *  Bonne 
sante,  Madame,'  and  then  I  fled, 
and  for  days  I  did  not  return. 

"  But  the  face  of  the  sad,  beauti- 
ful woman  haunted  me  at  all 
hours,  and  I  fell  into  deep  reveries 


{  M 


I:' 


Irggedy  of  Anse  aux  Canard. 

as  to  the  cause  of  their  coniinfr  to 
Anse  aux  Canards;  but  I  knew 
nothing  of  the  world's  ways,  and 
could  arrive  at  no  answer  to  my 
own  questionings. 

"Gradually  my  visits  to  the 
Barlows  became  more  frequent 
and  when  the  Anse  froze  over  I 
went  daily  to  perform  some  ser- 
vice in  or  about  the  house,  for  all 
of  which  Mr.  Barlow  insisted 
upon  payment,  though  I  would 
have  served  his  wife  on  my  knees 
and  without  thought  of  money. 

"  Mother  of  Heaven !  she  was 
kmd  and  good  to  me.     Our  win- 
ters are  long— God !  but  they  are 
long  sometimes,  when  you  are  left 
alone   with    memory.     But    that 
winter,  to  me,  fled  on  wings.      I 
did  not  fail  to  note,  however,  that 
Madame  grew  thin  and  pale,  and 
her    expression    sadder,    as    the 
90 


l!:agedy  of  Anse  aux^anarHa 

months  passed  by,  and  for  this 
alone  I  grieved,  and  longed  for 
the  bright  sunshine  of  spring 
which  I  foohshly  thought  was  all 
tliat  was  necessary  to  restore  her 
health  and  spirits. 

"  Mr.  Bariow  confined  himself 
mostly  to  his  books  and  papers, 
and  paid  little  attention  to  either 
of  us.     I  came  in  time  to  fear  this 
man,  who,  when  he  did  speak,  did 
so  in  bantering  tones  and  with 
quick,  snappy  speech,  that  took 
away  my  senses  and  left  me  help- 
less.   To  his  wife  he  was  all  polite- 
ness, but  in  time  I  came  to  think 
there  was  devilishness  in  it,  when 
it  brought  tears  to  her  eyes  and 
rage  to  my  heart. 

"  In  May  the  ice  moved  out  of 

the  Anse,  and  great  flocks  of  out- 

ardes  made  the  water  noisy  with 

their  honking.    There  were  green 

91 


l!     ^ 


Tragedy  of  Anse  aux  Canards 

patches  on  land,  and  the  days  were 
long  and  full  of  sunshine.     One 
took  a  fresh  hold  on  life  with  every 
breath.     Mr.    Barlow   had   gone 
for  a  walk  one  morning  to  the 
point,  and  I  was  alone  in  the  house 
with   Madame.     She   came   into 
the  kitchen  presently,  and  I  saw 
there  was  something  unusual,  for 
her  face  was  flushed  and  her  eyes 
were  filled  with  a  strange  light. 
" '  Narcisse.' 

Well,  Madame?* 
'May    I    trust    you    in    all 
things? ' 

"'Trust     me,     Madame!      I 
would  die  in  your  service.' 

Listen,  then.  You  must  aid 
me  to  escape  from  this  dreadful 
place.  I  will  die  here  if  I  am  com- 
pelled to  remain  much  longer.  It 
is  awful,  awful!  What  have  I 
done  to  deserve  such  a  fate?  ' 

93 


((  t 


it 


Ifl-K    B'oS 


Tragedy  of  Ansc  aux  Canards 


"Her  tears  and  sobs  at  this 
point  so  unnerved  me  that  I,  too, 
wept,  and  seizing  her  hand  I 
kissed  it  and  implored  her  to  calm 
herself,  that  I  pledged  my  life  for 
Iier  escape. 

"When    she    had    recovered 
somewhat  she  told  me  her  story. 
" '  I  was  twenty  years  of  age 
when  I  became  engaged  to  the 
man  I  loved,  but  my  father  and 
mother  both  opposed  our  mar- 
riage because  my  lover  was  poor, 
and  they  wished  me  to  marry  Mr. 
Barlow,  who  was  rich  and  had  a 
position    in    society.     Finally    I 
yielded  to  their  repeated  urging 
and  dismissed  the  man  1  loved. 
My  marriage  with  Mr.   Barlow 
soon  followed,  and  this  was  the 
end  of  all  my  happiness.     He  was 
insanely  jealous,  though  heaven 
knows  I  gave  him  no  cause,  and 

93 


»  i 


IBli 


Tragedy  of  Anse  aux  Canards 

tried  faithfully  in  every  way  to 
make  him  a  good  wife.     I  did  not 
love  him,  but  this  was  my  hidden 
cross  as  I  supposed.     Perhaps  he 
divined  it.     We  were  at  a  ball,  and 
among  those  present  was  the  man 
I  had  sacrificed.     We  had  never 
met  since  the  day  I  dismissed  him. 
All  the  tender  memory  of  the  old 
love   welled   up    into   my   heart 
upon  seeing  him  again.    He  came 
to  me  at  the  end  of  a  dance  and 
smilingly  extended  his  hand,  say- 
ing, "  Mrs.  Barlow,  may  I  claim  a 
dance  for  old  times'  sake?  " 

With  the  old  spell  upon  me 
I  weakly  assented,  for  I  yearned 
to  know  what  his  life  had  been  in 
the  long  years  that  had  intervened 
since  we  had  parted,  and  some- 
how a  sudden  burst  of  sunshine 
flooded  my  heart. 
"'We  danced  but  part  of  a 

94 


ilW!)' 


waltz,  when  he  suggested  a  walk 
through  the  conservatory.  I  do 
not  know  how  long  we  remained 

there  for  he  had  much  to  tell  me 
of  h,s  hfe  in  the  West,  but  he  was 
still  unmarried. 

"  \  \  was  the  voice  of  my  hus- 
band  that  interrupted  our  conver- 
sation.     "Ah,  Mr.  George,  how 
doyoudo.^      Clare,  my  dear,  I 
fear  that  m  the  pleasant  company 
of  an  old  friend  you  have  for- 
gotten  discretion;  the  tempera- 
ture  of  the  conservatorv  is  not 
goodforyou.    Clare,  Mr.' George 
Js  so  sensitive  to  changes.     YoJ 

will  let  me,  my  dear,  conduct  you 
hack  to  the  ballroom."  He  said 
not  another  word,  but  led  me 
away,  after  slightly  bowing  to  Mr. 
George.  I  was  too  confused  and 
terrified  to  say  anything,  for  I  felt 
that  I  should  be  made  to  suflFer  in 
95 


m 


Tragedy  of  Anse  aux  Canards 

some  way  for  my  indiscretion. 
He,  however,  made  no  allusion  to 
the  matter  for  days,  and  I  began 
to  hope  he  had  overlooked  my 
offense,  if  offense  it  was,  but  I  was 
mistaken. 

"*  While  at  breakfast  one 
morning  he  looked  over  his  paper 
at  me  and  said,  "  Clare,  you  may 
announce  to  your  friends  that  we 
will  leave  Boston  in  a  few  days  for 
an  extended  cruise  in  Northern 
waters,  and  that  our  address  will 
be  uncertain."  I  knew  my  pun- 
ishment had  come,  though  I  little 
suspected  the  form  it  was  to  as- 
sume. Some  ten  days  later  we 
boarded  the  schooner  at  Portland, 
which  brought  us  to  this  place.  I 
was  kept  in  profound  ignorance  of 
my  husband's  intention,  and  sup- 
posed our  stay  here  was  to  be  of  a 
few  weeks'  duration  only.     This 


morning  he  informed  me  he  had 
decided  to  remain  at  least  another 
year,  perhaps  longer.  It  is  his 
fiendish  cruelty,  his  desire  to  make 
me  suffer,  and  the  satisfaction 
which  it  affords  him,  but  I  have 
suffered  all  I  will,  and  it  is  he  who 
drives  me  to  do  what  I  intend. 

"  '  I  want  you,  Narcisse,  to  give 
this  letter  to  the  captain  of  the 
first  trading  schooner  that  puts  in 
to  Anse  aux  Canards  and  ask  him 
to  mail  it  from  Quebec.  When- 
ever the  answer  comes  you  will 
give  it  to  me,  and  be  prepared  to 
aid  me.' 

"  I  promised,  and  no  more  was 
said  then,  as  we  saw  Mr.  Barlow 
returning  to  the  house. 

"  The  Belle  Isle  was  the  first 
schooner  to  put  into  the  Anse,  and 
to  Captain  LeGrand  I  gave  the 
letter  just  as  he  was  upon  the 

97 


\i: 


Tragedy  of  Anse  aux  CanarH. 

point  of  sailing,  with  manv  injunc- 
tions of  caution.      He  was  filled 
with    curiosity    to    know    more 
about  Mr.  Barlow,  who  had  pur- 
chased so  largely  of  him,  and  had 
given  him  orders  for  such  strange 
things  to  be  brought  down  on  his 
return  trip;  yet  this  Mr.  Barlow 
had   never   asked   him   into   his 
house  to  drink  his  health  even 
though  he  paid  like  a  gentleman! 
Sacrebleti,  mon  ami  Narcisse,  you 
may  depend  upon  it  your  neigh- 
bor is  hiding  from  justice.'     I  did 
not  enlighten  him  on  this  point, 
but  took  my  departure. 

"  I  was  sitting  before  my  cabane 
one  morning  early  in  August, 
when  looking  up  from  my  work  I 
saw  the  schooner  La  Tartare  sail- 
ing into  the  Anse.  I  knew  her 
captain  well,  and  when  he  came 


98 


Tragedy  of  Anse  aux  j^^^ 

oflf  in  his  boat  I  went  down  to  the 
beach  to  meet  him. 

Bien,  Captain  Trudeau,  an- 
other cargo  of  fish  for  Quebec?  * 
" '  No,  my  good  friend  Nar- 
cisse,  rm  looking  for  another  sort 
of  cargo  this  time/  Here  he  dug 
me  in  the  ribs  and  winked  know- 
ingly. 

"I  knew  at  once  what  he 
meant,  so  I  led  him  aside  where 
we  could  converse  without  being- 
overheard  by  his  men. 

"^  You  have  brought  news,' 
1  said. 

" '  I  have  brought  more  than 
that,  mon  ami,  and  with  your  help 
I'll  take  more  away.  Aboard  my 
schooner  is  a  brave  m'sieu'  who  is 
all  anxiety  for  the  success  of  our 
mission  and  news  of  a  certain  lady 
we  are  to  assist.  You  are  to  give 
her  this  note,  Narcisse,  and  tell 

99 


Ji 

I  » 


tl 


^^^^^HlE 

m 

■sjbiMh^h 

mmmmp'f'>*s<^.mi:', 

n 

Tragedy  of  Anse  aux  Canards 

her  to  be  at  the  point  bei .  .n  ten 
and  twelve  to-night.  You  will 
say  to  Madame's  husband  that  La 
Tartare  has  put  in  here  to  await 
the  Belle  Isle  to  exchange  cargo, 
you  understand.' 

"As  soon  as  he  had  gone  I 
crossed  the  Anse  on  my  mission. 
Mr.  Barlow  was  impatiently  pac- 
ing up  and  down  before  his  house. 
What  schooner  is  this,  Nar- 
cisse,  and  what  does  she  want 
here?' he  angrily  asked. 

"  '  That,  M'sieu',  is  La  Tartare, 
a  noted  smuggler.  She  is  await- 
ing the  Belle  Isle  to  take  on  a 
cargo  of  whisky  from  St.  Pierre 
for  Quebec' 

"  *  I  wish  they  would  find  some 

other  place  to  rendezvous,'  and 

with  this  he  went  into  the  house. 

"  Madame  was  all  nervousness, 

but  I  found  a  chance  to  deliver  the 


lOO 


note  and  the  message,  with  a  few 
words  of  courage,  and  promised 
to  be  on  hand  to  guide  her  safely 
to  the  point. 

"  '  Am  r  doing  right,  Narcisse?* 
God  must  be  the  judge,  Ma- 
dame, for  you  in  this  matter  *  I 
answered,  and  as  my  heart  was 
heavy  I  hurried  away. 

"  Late  in  the  day  I  went  off  to 
the  schooner.     Mr.  George  met 
me  m  the  cabin,  seized  my  hand 
and  warmly  thanked  me  for  all  I 
had  done. 

"'I  intend,   Narcisse,   taking 
Mrs.  Barlow  to  friends  who  will 
know  how  to  protect  her  in  future 
from  this  crazy  husband  of  hers 
for  crazy  he  must  be.     God !  that 

we  shall  never  know  the  happiness 
that  mi^ht  have  been  ours!  Now 
I  can  only  show  her  that  my  love 
was  true  and  faithful  through  all. 

lOI 


Tragedy  of  Anse  aux  Canards 


And  you,  too,  my  good  Narcisse, 

for  I  see  by  your  tears  that  you, 

too,  love  and  pity  her.     There,  go 

along  and  we  will  meet  to-night.' 

"  Captain  Trudeau  was  on  deck 

when  I  came  from  the  cabin  and 

growled  out,  *  Bad  weather  not 

far  off.      We  will  do  well  to  be 

out  of  this  as  early  as  possible 

to-night.' 

Mon  Cher  capitaine,  I  don't 
know  about  to-night,  but  I  am 
certain  a  storm  will  break  to-mor- 
row morning,  and  I  will  be  in  the 
midst  of  it.' 

"  Captain  Trudeau  laughed. 

"He  was  right,  however. 
When  I  again  crossed  the  Anse 
the  night  was  black  and  the  wind 
was  moaning  over  the  point.  I 
waited  close  to  the  kitchen  door  of 
the  Barlow  house,  and  when  it 
silently  opened  I  was  at  Madame's 


I02 


side  in  an  instant.     We  hurried  to 
the  point  where  the  boat  awaited 
us.    A  tall  figure  rose  out  of  the 
darkness  and  extended  a  hand  to 
Mrs.  Barlow,  saying  a  few  words 
»n  English.     She  gave  a  little  sob, 
threw  her  arms  around  my  neck 
and  kissed  me  on  both  cheeks     A 
moment  later  and  they  were  lost 
in  the  night.     I  heard  the  anchor 
bemg  hoisted  and  the  sails  set  on 
the  schooner,  and  all  was  still  but 
^or  the  moaning  wind. 

"  God,  such  a  storm  as  soon 
broke!  I  sat  the  rest  of  the  night 
and  prayed  and  shivered,  as  the 
wind  and  rain  lashed  my  cabane. 

"  It  was  a  little  after  daybreak 
when  there  came  a  fierce  pound- 
ing on  my  door.     I  opened  it,  and 
Mr.  Barlow,  drenched  with  rain 
but  with  a  fierce  light  burning  in 


103 


Tragedy  of  Anse  aux  Canards 


ii  I 


Ml 

ini 


his  eyes  that  terrified  me,  stood 
before  me. 

"  *  You  damned  scoundrel ! ' 
said  he.  *  You  have  helped  my 
wife  to  escape,  and  I  would  kill 
you  where  you  stand,  but  I've  use 
for  you.  Don't  remain  there 
gasping,  but  out  of  this  and  get 
the  whaleboat  rigged,  for,  by 
heavens,  I'm  going  to  follow  the 
schooner.' 

"'But  in  such  a  storm,  and 
whither,  M'sieu*? ' 

"  He  made  as  though  to  strike 
me.  *  No  words,  but  do  at  once 
what  I  tell  you  or—'  He  did  not 
finish  the  sentence,  but  his  looks 
did,  and  I  hastened  to  do  his  bid- 
ding, he  feverishly  helping  and 
execrating  me  for  all  the  devils  in 
hell. 

"  We   nearly   swamped   going 
over  the  bar,  and  with  scarce  a  rag 
104 


Tragedy  of  Anse  aux  Canards 

of  sail  set  we  flew  up  the  coast  be- 
fore the  gale.     Mr.  Barlow  bailed 
while  I  managed  the  boat,  but  no 
word  was  spoken.    As  night  drew 
on  and  no  sign  of  the  schooner, 
the  necessity  for  seeking  shelter 
became   apparent    to   even    this 
crazy  man,  and  he  ordered  me  to 
find  a  cove  to  run  into.     I  knew 
nothing  of  the  coast  except  from 
hearsay,  but  kept  a  keen  lookout, 
and   finally   saw   Isle   au    Bout, 
which  guards  the  mouth  of  the 
river  Au  Sable.     I  ran  the  boat 
into  its  mouth  just  at  dusk. 

"I  made  a  shelter  with  the 
boat-sails  and  a  fire  at  which  to 
warm  ourselves.  The  gale  in- 
stead of  decreasing  worked  up 
into  a  tempest  early  in  the  night. 
Mr.  Barlow,  exhausted,  had  fall- 
en into  a  deep  sleep,  but  I  knelt 


105 


Tne 


I*. 


'# 


ngedy  of  Anse  aux  Canards 

and  prayed  for  the  safety  of  the 
two  in  deadly  peril. 

"  About  midnight  I  plainly  saw 
the  faint  flash  of  a  vessel's  light 
beyond    the    point.      Again    it 
appeared,    but    nearer.      Btessed 
angels  of  heaven !  the  schooner, 
and    rushing    blindly    upon    the 
rocks.     I  seized  a  burning  brand 
from  the  fire  and  stumbled  my 
way  to  the  shore.      Again  and 
again  I  waved  my  torch  over  my 
head,  but  I  saw  or  heard  nothing 
more.     In  an  agony  of  fear  I  sank 
upon    the    rocks.     The    terrible 
blackness  of  the  night  rendered 
me  powerless  to  extend  aid,  even 
were  it  not  already  too  late. 

"I  remained  there  in  all  the 
storm,  crouching  behind  the 
rocks  for  shelter  from  the  wind, 
uti.  »  daylight,  when  I  hastened  up 
the  l;v  .u.,  lliere  was  no  sign  of 
io6 


Tragedy  of  Anse  aux  Canards 


the  schooner,  but   J  soon  came 
upon  some  -/rerkage,  and  not  far 
off  the  Hody  of  a  boy  whom  I 
recogUAzed  as  the  son  of  Captain 
Trudeau.     A  few  hundred  yards 
farther  on,  amidst  a  great  mass  of 
wreckage,  there  lay  the  bodies  of 
the  two  who,  separated  in  life,  now 
locked  in  each  other's  arms,  were 
united  in  death.     I  fell  upon  my 
knees  beside  the  dead  woman  and 
kissed  the  cold  lips  that  had  so 
short    time    before    pressed    my 
cheek.     I  thought  quick  at  that 
moment.      Mr.    Barlow    should 
never  know  of  these  two  dying 
together.     I  would  bury  them  as 
hey  ha-  died.     Like  a  man  pos- 
sessed, I  dug  a  grave  in  the  sand 
with  a  piece  of  the  wreck,  and  say- 
ing a  hurried  prayer  for  the  repose 
of  the  souls  of  the  dead,  I  hastily 
covered  the  bodies,  removing  all 
I07 


I    Jv 


Tragedy  of  Anse  aux  Canards 


trace  of  my  work  except  for  a  rude 
cross  of  stones  which  I  placed  flat 
on  the  sands  above  the  grave. 
M'sieu*,  my  heart  lies  buried  in 
that  grave,  but  I  live  on.  It  is 
God's  will." 

Narcisse  rose  and  knocked  the 
ashes  out  of  his  pipe.  "  The  tide 
is  rising,  M'sieu';  it  is  time  we 
were  off." 

"And  Mr.  Barlow,"  I  ex- 
claimed; "  what  of  him?  " 

"They  took  him  to  Quebec, 
M'sieu',  quite  crazy,  and  ever  call- 
ing to  his  wife  to  save  him." 


xo8 


wmm 


^  \ 


i       i 
i      \ 

\ 


I  - 


ex- 


At  St.  Therese 


At  St.  Therese 

A  MONO  t'aq  families  of  the 
*^  guides  and  canoemen  which 
inhabited  the  four  or  five  little  log 
cabins  that  perched  on  the  moun- 
tain-side above  the  brawling  St. 
Therese,  he  was  familiarly  known 
as  Prince  Rollo.     He  was  always 
more     formally     addressed     as 
M'sieu'  Rollo,  for  though  a  prince 
in  his  own  right  of  American  citi- 
zenship,  yet   when   he   traveled 
abroad  he  sank  his  title  in  the  in- 
cognito of  plain  Mr.  Rollo.    Fran- 
cois and  Pierre  and  their  families 
were  not,  however,  to  be  deceived 
by    so    transparent    a    disguise. 
None  other  than  a  prince  could  be 
such  a  royal  dispenser  of  luxuries 
III 


II,  t. 


At  St.  Therese 


M  II 


hu' 


among  them.     Ah!  but  he  was 
both   good   and    generous,    this 
Prince  Rollo !    When  St.  Therese 
gathered  together  to  veillee  of  a 
long  winter's  evening,  much  spec- 
ulation would  be  indulged  in  as  to 
the  contents  of  the  great  box  that 
Prince  Rollo  was  so  certain  to 
bring  with  him  when  he  came  to 
fish  in  the  spring,  that  magic  box 
than  from  which  no  conjurer  ever 
produced  so  many  and  such  beau- 
tiful things  for  every  member  of 
the  community,  not  even  forget- 
ting   the    latest    arrivals—there 
were  always  rattles  and  tooth-cut- 
ting  rings    for   these    unknown 
comers. 

Frangois  Ceras  would  end  the 
discussion  by  exclaiming,  "In 
the  name  of  God,  but  the  Prince 
must  be  certain  to  have  good  fish- 
ing when  he  comes  again !  " 


112 


At  St.  Therese 


And  the  others  would  fervently 
answer,  "In  the  name  of  God 
he  shall ! " 

Curious  things  were  sought  for, 
and  still  more  curious  things  were 
wrought  from  bark  and  wood  for 
Prince  Rollo  to  take  home  again 
in  the  magical  box,  until  in  time 
that  home  in  a  far-away  state  be- 
came a  veritable  museum  of  curi- 
osities. 

To  Prince  Rollo,  St.  Therese 
represented  the  great  blessed 
thing  in  life — rest.  For  one  short 
month  of  the  year  the  heavy  bur- 
dens and  responsibilities  of  a  busy 
man  dropped  from  his  shoulders, 
and  he  gave  himself  unreservedly 
to  nature  and  fishing,  and  the  in- 
tercourse with  the  delightfully 
simple  and  primitive  people  who 
were  all  so  fond  of  him.  Before 
he  fairly  realized  it,  his  weariness 
"3 


At  St.  Therese 


slipped  away  from  him;  his  pessi- 
mism disappeared  before  the 
chee*  'al  optimism  of  St.  Therese; 
his  step  grew  springy  and  elastic, 
and  his  spirits  rose  to  boiling 
point. 

Such  days  there  were  of  fishing 
in  the  rapids  with  Francois  and 
Jacques  Beaulieu  as  his  canoemen, 
such  symposiums  at  his  camp-fires 
on  the  shores  of  the  sweetest  of  all 
sweet  lakes,  the  little  Evangeline, 
that  nestled  among  a  labyrinth  of 
mountain-tops,   when   mon  oncle 
Pierre  Gausin  told  his  stories  of 
the  hup  garou  and  la  jongleuse 
with  that  rare  dramatic  skill  that 
comes  of  long  practice;  and  then 
Pierre's    nephew,    Calixte,    sang 
those  old  French  songs  that  have 
echoed  down  the  centuries  among 
the  Canadians.    The  Prince  would 
sino-    "Ma   Normandie"    in    his 
114 


At  St.  Therese 


sweet  tenor  until  the  tears  came  to 
the  eyes  of  Pierre  and  Calixte, 
though    the    old    Normandy    of 
France  was  but  a  tradition  with 
them,  but  the  air  and  words  are  full 
of  a  tender  pathos.     And  Pierre 
and  Calixte  never  tired  of  hearing 
the  poem  of  "  Evangeline  "  read 
to  them  in  the  French  of  Pam- 
phille  LeMay.  When  the  reading, 
however,  came  to  an  end  for  the 
evening,    mon   oncle   Pierre   and 
Calixte  would  retire  into  the  shade 
of  the  forest  to  repeat  the  long 
chaplet     While  they  were  at  their 
devotions  the  Prince,  after  light- 
ing a  cigar,  would  stroll  down  to 
the  lake,  and  sitting  there  in  the 
moonlight,  dream  such  pleasant 
dreams  that  his  heart  would  quite 
overflow  and  a  great  peace  take 
possession  of  him,  which  was  not 


"5 


At  St.  Therese 


like  unto   anything  else  in   the 
whole  world  in  sweetness. 

Which  leads  me  to  my  story; 
for  what  I  have  already  related  is 
only  the  prelude  that  carries  the 
air,  to  use  a  musical  phrase. 

The  Prince  set  his  rod  down 
carefully  in  the  canoe,  for  the  sun, 
climbing  over  the  mountains,  had 
flooded  the  placid  lake  in  a  liquid 
golden  light,  and  the  trout  had 
ceased  to  rise. 

"  Now,  Calixte,"  said  he,  "  we'll 
tie  up  under  that  big  birch  and 
have  a  smoke  while  we  wait  for 
the  wind." 

Calixte  did  as  he  was  directed. 

The  full  beauty  of  late  May  was 
upon  all  the  mountain-sides. 
Maples  in  half-open  leaf  of  many 
reds  blended  with  the  birches  in 
their  delicate  yellow-greens,  while 
about    the    lakeshore    the    wild 

ii6 


At  St.  Therese 


cherry  and  poire  were  in  masses  of 
wh'te  flowers.  From  many  spruce- 
tops  came  the  call  of  little  "  white 
throat,"  the  sweet— sweet—Can- 
ada—Canada.  The  Prince  was 
silently  happy. 

It  was  Calixte  who,  after  some- 
what noisily  knocking  the  ashes 
from  his  pipe  against  the  canoe's 
side  to  attract  the  Prince's  atten- 
tion, thus  delivered  himself: 

"  It  is  a  good  thing,  is  it  not  so, 
M'sieu'  Rollo,  for  a  man  to  have 
a  wife  and  family?" 

Calixte  laid  particular  stress 
upon  "a  man."  He  was  just 
twenty-one,  with  a  downy  mus- 
tache. 

The  Prince,  awakened  from  his 
reverie,  turned  slowly  in  Calixte's 
direction,  with  just  the  faint 
tremor  of  a  sad  little  smile  at  the 
corner  of  his  mouth.  The  ques- 
117 


/  J-'i 


t  -  n 


J- 


At  St.  Therese 


tion  had  recalled  a  sad  period  in 
his  early  life,  but  he  replied 
cheerily  enough,  "  It  all  depends, 
Calixte,  upon  the  kind  of  wife  and 
the  size  of  the  family.  Are  you 
seriously  thinking  of  the  widow 
Ledroit,  with  her  fourteen  chil- 
dren?" 

"Heaven  defend  me,  M'sieu* 
Rollo,  but  what  put  that  idea  in 
your  head  ?  Do  you  think  I  want 
to  live  on  blueberries  and  spruce- 
gum  until  I  die?  " 

"  I  couldn't  say,  Calixte;  when 
a  young  man's  thoughts  turn  to 
love  and  marriage  in  the  spring, 
he  isn't  responsible  for  what  he 
does.  I  dare  say  now  it's  Aman- 
da Leveille." 

Amanda  was  a  grim-visaged  old 
maid  who  lived  on  the  border  of 
St.  Therese. 

Calixte  almost  choked  with  in- 

ii8 


At  St.  Therese 


dignation.  "BonDieu!  M'sieu' 
Rollo,  but  you  think  I  have  gone 
dements.  That  one,  indeed  I 
Why,  I  naghi  as  well  think  of 
marrying  niy  grandmother." 

"  Well,"  replied  the  Prince,  ap- 
parently trying  to  rack  his  brains 
for  the  proper  person,  "  perhaps 
It  IS  a  little  black-eyed  Noema 
^^^s  who  is  filling  your  mind 
with  love  and  marriage." 

A  great  light  of  joy  swept  over 
the  boy's  face  as  he  answered, 
"You  are  right,  M'sieu'  Rollo; 
she  is  an  angel." 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  said  she 
was  an  angel  exactly,"  observed 
the  Prince,  "but  I  dare  say  you  are 
right.  All  women  are  angels  and 
men  heroes  during  the  lover  stage 
of  existence;  but  when  once  mar- 
ried, my  brave  Calixte,  earthly 
angels  and  heroes  no  longer  live  in 
119 


*  1 


«', 


At  St.  Therese 


the  air,  or  on  it  either,  so  how  do 
you  propose  to  manage  to  exist  at 
St.  Therese  if  Mamselle  Noema 
and  you  join  forces  for  better,  for 
worse?" 

"  We  have  thought  of  all  that, 
M'sieu'  Rollo,  but  the  bon  Dieit 
will  help  us,  and  we  have  no  fear 
on  that  score;   but   Noema  has 
another  lover,  M'sieu',  that  big 
black  Jacques  who  comes  from 
Les  Jardins,  and  because  he  has 
a  farm  gives  himself  the  airs  of  a 
bourgeois.     But  he  shall  eat  dirt. 
Yes,  I  say  he  shall  eat  dirt,  even 
though    Noema's    father    makes 
much  of  him.     Bah !  that  Jacques 
is  a  pig,  to  come  to  St.  Therese 
looking  for  a  wife." 

The  Prince  barely  restrained  a 
laugh  at  this  last  unconscious 
thrust  at  the  good  people  in  St. 
Therese,  but  he  consolingly  said  : 


120 


At  St.  Therese 

"Courage,  Calixte;  no  woman 
worth  winning  was  ever  won  with- 
out a  struggle.  You  must  let  me 
know,  though,  how  it  all  comes 
on." 

A  dark  ripple  upon  the  waters, 
stealing  slowly  across  the  lake,' 
announced  the  sought-for  breeze,' 
and  Calixte,  pushing  the  canoe 
from    under    ihe    branches,    the 
Prince  was  soon  intent  upon  the 
fishing,  and  the  subject  of  Cal- 
ixte's  love  afifair  was  not  further 
alluded  to.     It  was  not  forgotten 
by  the  Prince,  however,  for  a  day 
or  two  before  his  departure  from 
St.    Therese    he    met    Mamselle 
Noema  at   the   roadside   spring, 
where,  under  an  improvised  shel- 
ter of  branches,  that  young  lady, 
seemingly  in  no  wise  cast  down, 
was  washing  a  length  of  cafalame 


sr 


At  St.  Therese 


f ' 


in  a  tub  and  singing  most  cheerily 
to  herself. 

"  Good  morning,  Mamselle 
Black  Eyes;  you  seem  in  great 
good  humor.  Is  it  because  big 
Jacques  is  coming  soon  to  carry 
you  away  from  St.  Therese?  In 
that  case,"  continued  the  Prince, 
"  I  shall  miss  the  wedding." 

This  occasional  event  was  al- 
ways set  for  the  period  of  the 
Prince's  visit  to  St.  Therese.  It 
was  he  who  first  signed  the  regis- 
ter after  the  bride,  and  danced  the 
first  dance  with  her  at  the  subse- 
quent festivities.  If  the  births 
and  deaths  were  not  deferred  until 
his  presence  in  the  parish,  it  was 
because  of  reasons  quite  beyond 
the  control  of  its  inhabitants,  but 
always  a  matter  of  sincere  regret. 

The  girl  stopped  her  washing, 
and  turning  a  blazing  pair  of  eyes 


122 


At  St.  Therese 


upon  the  Prince,  stamped  her  foot 
angrily     as     she    said:      "You 
know,  M'sieu'  Rollo,  I  hate  that 
Jacques,  and  it  was  not  because  I 
was  thinking  of  him  but  of  some 
one  else  that  I  was  singing.     Ah ! 
you  —  you     know     very     well. 
Sainted  Virgin,  but  is  it  not  sad 
that  Calixte  is  not  rich  like  that 
other?    He  is  smart,  though,  is 
Cahxte;   and   this   winter   he   is 
going  to  take  a  contract  to  cut 
logs  for  the  Englishman.      He 
is    worth    two    like    that— that 
Jacques,  who  can  only  smoke  and 
spit.    As  for  me  I  hate  him." 

The    Prince    was    in    teasing 
mood,  for  he  answered :     "  Well 
Mamselle  Spitfire,  we  have  a  say- 
ing, we  Americans,  that  hate  oft- 
times  is  the  beginning  of  love." 

"  That   may  be  so  with  you 
Amencans,  for  you  do  nothing 
133 


!     ! ! 


!,n 


At  St.  Therese 


like  us  Canadians,"  replied 
Noema,  "  but  all  the  same,  I'll  die 
first  before  I  marry  that  ugly 
Jacques." 

The  Prince  laughed,  and  ex- 
tending his  hand  to  the  girl,  said : 
"  Now  I  must  say  good  by,  little 
one;  keep  a  tiny  corner  of  your 
heart  for  me,  and  I'll  dance  at  your 
wedding,  never  fear.     And  that 
Jacques  shall  eat  dirt.     Yes,  he 
shall  eat  dirt,"  added  the  Prince, 
who  just  then  recalled  Calixte's 
expression.     A  day  or  two  later, 
when  the  Prince  and  his  magic 
box  and  other  sundry  belongings 
had  been  safely  deposited  on  the 
platform  of  the  St.  Elmond  station 
by  Calixte,  the  two  men  stood 
sadly  silent,  the  Prince  thinking  of 
the   pleasant    scenes   just   aban- 
doned for  the  ugly  cares  of  life  so 
soon  to  be  resumed,  the  other  at 
124 


ill 


At  St.  Therese 


the  loss  of  the  one  who  alone 
seemed  to  stand  between  him  and 
despair  in  the  success  of  his  life's 
object.     The  whistle  of  the  ap- 
proaching   train    recalled    them 
both  to  the  present,  and  as  the 
hurried   good   by  was  said,   the 
Prince  slipped  a  roll  of  bills  into 
Calixte's    hand    with    a    simple, 
"  Just  to  help  along  the  lumbering 
operations  this  winter,  my  brave 
Calixte." 

As  the  train  started,  the  Prince 
caught  a  last  sight  of  Calixte  still 
standing  rooted  to  the  platform, 
with  his  hands  clutching  the  roll 
of  bills,  mouth  wide  open,  and 
looking  after  the  train  with  a  look 
of  blank  astonishment  upon  his 
face.     And  the  Prince  chuckled. 

It  was  late  in  the  Jiinuary  fol- 
lowing that  the  Prince  received  a 
strangely  addressed  and  still  more 

125 


,,^';  I 


5 


(     ; 


At  St.  Therese 


oddly  worded  letter.  It  was 
signed  Noema  Ceras;  it  read  as 
follows : 

"I  have  much  trouble  to  ex- 
plain that  Calixte  and  his  horse 
tumble  over  the  big  mountain. 
The  horse  he  die,   and   CaJixte 
nearly  die,  too,  but  he  lives  now 
with    a    leg    broke.     Angels    of 
heaven!  it  is  sad.     That  fellow 
Jacques  comes  very  often,  but  I 
hate  him.     My  father  says  I  shall 
mirry,  for  there  are  many  children 
in  the  house.     My  father  is  very 
poor  with  children,  and  now  there 
is  one  more.     Calixte  says  he  will 
go  on  the  brickyards  in  the  States. 
If  he  goes  I  will  die  for  sure." 

The  Prince  was  accustomed  to 
dealing  with  the  emergencies  of 
life. 

The    following    week    Notary 
Planet,    of   St.    Elmond,    acting 
126 


At  St.  Therese 


under  instructions,  appeared  at  St. 
Therese.  He  put  up  at  Frangois 
Ceras's.  After  his  horse  was  un- 
harnessed and  a  place  found  for  it 
in  the  stables,  the  two  men  lit  their 
pipes  and  stood  around  for  the  bit 
of  confidential  gossip  before  en- 
tering the  house. 

"  Well,  Francois,  I've  come  to 
St.  Therese,  thinking  that  you 
might  want  me  to  draw  up  your 
claim  upon  the  government  for 
the  ninety  acres  for  the  twelfth 
child."     The  Notary  laughed. 

"You  are  always  welcome  at 
St.  Therese,  M'sieu'  Planet,  but  if 
you  have  no  other  business  here 
this  time  you  will  have  come  for 
nothing,  for  the  last  is  only  the 
eleventh." 

"  So,"  said  the  Notary.  "  Well, 
it  is  fortunate  I  have  some  other 
matters  to  attend  to  here.      The 
127 


tfi 


At  St.  Therese 

first  is,  Frangois,  you  are  shortly 
to  have  a  neighbor.     I  have  pur- 
chased the  lot  of  land  next  to  you 
and  Avii  commence  to  build  upon 
It  at  once.    A  fine  place  this  for  a 
summer  home.     You  don't  hap- 
pen to  know  of  a  steady  young 
man,  with  a  wife,  who  would  take 
charge  of  the  place?     Tve  been 
thmkmg  of  Calixte;  but  he's  not 
married.     Still,   I  suppose  that 
could  be  arranged."    Here  the 
Notary  dug  Francois  in  the  ribs 
and  looked  very  knowing. 

Francois  forced  a  little  laugh 
but  looked  somewhat  surprised  at 
this  sudden  and  unexpected  dec- 
laration of  the  Notary.  "  I  dare 
say  you  are  right,  M'sieu'  Planet- 
we  must  think  it  over,"  said  he.  ' 
Whereupon  the  two  men  en- 
tered the  house. 

What  the  Notary  said  to  Cal- 
128 


At  St.  Therese 

ixte  was  only  confided  to  Noema 
by  the  latter,  who  no  longer  spoke 
now  of  going  to  the  brickyards, 
but  occupied  himself  very  actively 
in  carrying  out  the  plans  of  No- 
tary Planet.    A  house  and  barn 
were  pushed  steadily  to  the  finish. 
A  horse  and  cow,  several  sheep,  a 
pig,  and  some  chickens  were  sent 
from  St.  Elmond  by  the  Notary 
and  shortly  before  the  breaking 
up  of  the  winter  roads  four  or  five 
loads  of  furniture  arrived,  with  a 
letter  from  him  asking  Mamselle 
Noema  to  kindly  attend  to  its 
arrangement,   as   he   desired   to 
give  a  house-warming  about  the 
period  of  M'sieu'  Rollo's  arrival, 
which  would  soon  take  place. 

The  giri  was  delighted  with  her 

task,  and  set  about  it  with  all  the 

love  that  a  woman  feels  for  new 

finery.     So  much  good  taste  and 

129 


At  St.  Therese 


housewifery  did  she  display  that 
Calixte  spent  more  time  indoors 
in  undisguised  admiration  of  the 
worker  than  was  altogether  com- 
patible with  his  outside  duties. 
Big  Jacques  was  not  so  frequent  a 
visitor  now  at  St.  Therese,  and 
hope  was  strong  in  the  heart  of 
youth,    but   the   girl    could   not 
help  wondering  sometimes  why 
M'sieu'  Rollo  did  not  answer  her 
letter. 

The  day  of  the  arrival  of  Prince 
Rollo,  St.  Therese  was  en  fete.    At 
the    arch    of    evergreens    which 
spanned  the  road,  the  entire  pop- 
ulation had  gathered  at  the  hour 
of  his  expected  arrival.     It  was 
Prince  Rollo  who  led  the  proces- 
sion, accompanied  by  P^re  Andre, 
and  followed  by  Notary  Planet 
and  a  string  of  buckboards  all 
heavily  laden  with  boxes,  among 
130 


At  St.  Therese 


which  the  magic  box  was  con- 
spicuous.     When     the     priest's 
blessing  had  been  given,  and  the 
many  warm  greetings  exchanged, 
the    visitors    first    proceeded    to 
Francois  Ceras's.     The  Prince,  a 
few  minutes  later,  drew  Francois 
into  the  spare  room  and  held  a 
hurried   conversation   with   him, 
the  precise  nature  of  which  was 
never  disclosed,  but  when  they  re- 
turned to  the  others  Francois  had 
a  hopeless  grin  of  astonishment 
upon  his  face.     Several  times  he 
made  as  though  to  speak,  and  as 
suddenly  checked  himself  with  a 
half  choke. 

"Now,  Noema,"  said  the 
Prince,  "  I  am  all  curiosity  to  see 
this  new  house  of  Notary  Planet's. 
Come,  we  will  go  together." 

After  they   had   carefully   in- 
spected the  house,  and  the  Prince 
X3I 


I   '■ 


At  St.  Therese 

had  expressed  his  approval  and 
complimented  the  girl  upon  her 
skillful  arrangement  of  it,  she  sud- 
denly   burst    out,    "Mother    of 
Heaven!  but  one  could  be  very 
happy  here,  it  is  all  so  beautiful." 
"Do   you    think   so?"   inter- 
rupted the  Prince,  eagerly.    "  Let 
us  call  in  Calixte  and  hear  what  he 
has  to  say."     And  going  to  the 
door  he  called,  "  Calixte !  " 

That  young  man  responded  so 
promptly  as  almost  to  lead  to  the 
suspicion  that  he  was  prepared  for 
the  summons. 

"Mamselle  Bright  Eyes  tells 
me,  Calixte,  that  she  thinks  she 
could  be  very  happy  here,  even 
with  that  fellow  Jacques,"  said  the 
i^nnce,  looking  quite  serious. 
"What? "said  Calixte. 

No2a'    ^'''''''    ^•"^'"    '"^^ 
132 


At  St.  Therese 


"But,"  continued  the  Prince, 
"  she  would  no  doubt  be  happier 
with  some  one  else  while  that  fel- 
low Jacques  was  eating  dirt.     I 
believe,  Noema,  I  told  you  that  he 
should   eat  dirt.     Well,   I  don't 
mind  telling  you  both  that  he  will 
commence  at  once.     I've  taken  a 
fancy    to    do    a    foolish    thing 
You'll   both   think  so,   I   know, 
when  I  tell  you  that  my  answer 
to  Noema's  letter  is  a  deed  for  this 
place  to  her,  but  it's  all  upon  con- 
dition that  you  are  both  married 
to-morrow,  for  I  cannot  afford  to 
lose  any  of  my  fishing." 

Noema  and  Calixte  looked  at 
each  other,  and  then  at  the  Prince, 
as  though  doubting  their  ears. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Prince,  "  P^re 
Andre  has  a  special  dispensation 
from  the  banns,  and  the  marriage 


133 


i  tl 


r^*. 


m 


cannot  be  postponed  an  hour  be- 
yond the  time  set " 

the' Prce"   ^°^''^''"  ^— <1 
fh^^^-T^  *'"^^  ■'■■^  ^™«  "bout 

2'  ^''^*^''^'>«h«  answered 
our  prayer,  Noema;  the  good 
Prince  has  helped  us." 

The  Prince  missed  Calixte  at 
h  s  c^p-fires  that  spring,  but  the 

hshmg  was  never  better.  He  still 
goes  to  St.  Therese  an^  i,- 
li-ftu  I  L  '^^^**'  ana  his  own 
to^  log  house,  not  far  from  the 
Lalixte  homestead,  is  much  re- 
sorted to  during  the  period  of  its 
occupancy  by  several  small  scion 
of  the  latter  house,  who  find  an 

unfailmg  source  of  pleasure  in  the 
magic  box. 


'34 


irms  about 

r  fervently, 

s  answered 

the   good 

Calixte  at 
ig,  but  the 
He  still 
d  his  own 
from  the 
much  re- 
Jod  of  its 
all  scions 
>  find  an 
ire  in  the 


Two  Old  Soldiers 


■I 

i 


Hi! 


Two  Old  Soldiers 

pAPTAINLE  GARDE  was 
^^  of  the  army  that  had  fought 
under    Maximilian    in    Mexico. 
Old  and  battle-scarred,  he  had 
come    from    Quebec    to    Terre 
Blanche  with  scant  means  to  eke 
out    his    declining    years.     He 
boarded  at  the  De  Camps.    Terre 
Blanche  was  much  too  concerned 
that  summer  in  its  struggle  for 
existence,  in  the  scarcity  of  work 
that    prevailed,    to    give    much 
thought   or   time   to    strangers. 
Captain  Le  Garde,  therefore,  went 
his  lonesome  rounds  of  the  parish 
unnoticed  and  friendless.     It  was 
a  sad  time  for  him,  for  he  chafed 
under  this  isolation  from  his  fel- 
lowman. 

137 


I  -■  'S 


Two  Old  Soldiers 


i .?   • 


One  autumn  day,  as  he  stood 
on  the  bridge  that  spanned  the 
little  river,  warming  his  old  body 
in  the  bright  sunshine,  he  saw 
coming  toward  him  from  the  op- 
posite side  of  the  river  a  tall  man 
with  fierce,  grizzled  mustachios 
and  goatee.    He  limped  painfully. 
When  he  had  approached  closer, 
the  two  men  seemed  simultane- 
ously to  recognize  the  comrade- 
ship of  arms,  and  both  gave  the 
military  salute. 

The  tall  man  stopped  and  re- 
garded the  other  somewhat  critic- 
ally. Then  he  said:  "Comrade, 
thou  art  an  old  soldier;  in  whose 
service  hast  thou  fought?  I  am 
Lieutenant  Constant,  late  of  the 
"  Chasseurs  d'Afrique."  This  last 
was  said  with  an  air  of  pride. 
^^  "And  I,"  replied  the  other, 
"am  Captain  Le  Garde,  late  of 
138 


Two  Old  Soldiers 

the    army    of    Maximilian,     of 
Mexico." 

Hereupon  they  clasped  hands 
in  the  warmth  of  sympathetic  ac- 
quaintance, and  fell  into  the  easy 
confidences  of  old  campaigners. 
The  world,  bounded  by  the  hori- 
zon of  Terre  Blanche,  was  at  la^^! 
illumined  in  their  sight. 

"  Hein !  but  it  is  good  to  meet 
an  old  comrade;  it  has  been  very 
lonesome  here,"  said  Captain  Le 
Garde. 

"Lonesome,"    exclaimed    the 
Lieutenant,  in  a  gruff  voice,  in 
which  he  manfully  tried  to  stifle 
an  emotion;  "  what  knowest  thou 
of  lonesomeness,  comrade,  who 
hast  not  suffered  loss  of  wife,  who 
hast  never  had  a  wife's  love  ?   Ah ! 
comrade,  there  are  few  on  earth 
like  my  Lucie  was;  she  is  among 
the  saints  in  heaven  now."    The 
139 


-f  1 


Two  Old  Soldiers 


Lieutenant  raised  his  hat  in  si- 
lence. 

Captain  Le  Garde  did  likewise, 
and  then  he  extended  his  tobacco- 
pouch  to  the  other:  "We  will 
sit  here  and  smoke,"  said  he,  "  it 
is  warm  and  comfortable,  and 
thou,  comrade,  wilt  tell  me  of  thy 
Lucie." 

So  the  two  old  men  sat  there  in 
the  sunshine,  and  the  one  told  the 
simple  story  of  his  love  and  mar- 
riage, and  the  happy  years  that 
had  followed,  until,  both  grown 
old  and  somewhat  useless  in  the 
big  world,  they  had  come  to  Terre 
Blanche    as    caretakers    for    the 
empty  house  of  the  Englishman. 
Here  his  Lucie  fell  ill,  though  she 
would  never  admit  it  was  any- 
thing   serious.     One    night    she 
awoke  him,  saying:  "Thou  wilt 
get  up  and  light  a  lamp  at  the 
140 


Two  Old  Soldiers 


crucifix,  and  then  sit  at  the  ued- 
side  where  I  can  see  thee.     Nor- 
bert,  thou  art  brave,  for  thou  art 
an   old   soldier,   and   hast   faced 
death    ofte.i    thyself,    and    seen 
others  die.     I  am  dying,  Norbert, 
and   thou   must   face   the   world 
alone.     May    God   be   good   to 
thee."     She  reached  up  her  arms 
and  drew  the  rough  old  face  down 
to  hers,  and  kissing  it  once,  twice, 
sighed  gently,  and  her  soul  passed 
to  God. 

Both  the  old  men  were  weeping 
now. 

Captain  Le  Garde  blew  his  nose 
vigorously.  "  Comrade,"  said  he, 
"  we  will  be  friends." 

That  night  Madame  de  Camp 
heard  her  boarder  in  his  room 
singinp-  "The  Brigadier."  "I 
am  glad  he  is  more  cheerful,"  said 
she  to  her  husband. 

«4« 


r 


Two  Old  Soldiers 


Life  had  again  taken  on  an  in- 
terest for  the  two  old  soldiers.     In 
the  sympathy  of  understanding 
they  had  found  the  balm  for  some 
of  the  troubles  that  afflict  old  age. 
They  met  daily  on  the  bridge, 
aid   if  the   day  was   cold   they 
stamped  up  and  down  its  length 
fighting  over  the  battles  in  which 
they  had  taken  part,  or  living  the 
campaigns  again  of  their  youth  or 
manhood.     When  the  days  were 
stormy.  Captain  Le  Garde  walked 
to  the  quarters  of  the  Lieutenant 
in  the  house  of  the  Englishman. 
There  they  smoked,  and  the  Lieu- 
tenant would  talk  of  his  Lucie,  for 
his  heart  was  still  tender  of  mem- 
ories of  the  dead  wife. 

It  was  early  in  December  that 

Captain  Le  Garde,  coming  from 

mass  one  Sunday  morning,  met 

the  Widow  La  Jeune,  and  fell 

14a 


Two_01d_Soldiers^ 

under  the  spell  of  her  big  soft 
brown  eyes  and  the  low  voice  with 
Its    pleasant     cadences.      Hein! 
though,  this  widow  was  a  fool 
with  her  coquettishness  that  set 
other  women  against  her,  and  the 
men  against  each  other,  and  made 
her  name  a  byword  in  the  parish 
I  say  she  was  a  fool,  for  her  ambi- 
tion set  no  bounds  to  her  man 
conquests,  so  the  universal  hatred 
of  the  women  became  her  portion. 
It  is  not  well  to  incur  the  ani- 
mosity of  an  women.     It  left  the 
widow    defenseless,    and    finally 
drove  her  from  Terre  Blanche; 
but  this  is  getting  ahead  of  my 
story. 

The  widow  dropped  her  muff. 

The  Captain,  walking  behind 
her,  picked  it  up  and  restored  it  to 
Its  owner  with  a  gallant  bow,  and 
a  "  Madame,  permit  me ! " 

'43 


I  I 


im 


Two  Old  Soldiers 


I , 


"  Oh !  thanks  so  much,"  replied 
the  widow,  as  she  shot  an  appeal- 
ing glance  from  under  her  long 
lashes  directly  into  the  eyes  of  the 
Captain.  It  was  most  deadly  of 
aim,  and  the  simple  old  soldier's 
heart  beat  a  tattoo  upon  the 
bosom  of  his  starched  shirt. 

They  walked  together  in  silence 
until  they  reached  the  widow's 
cottage.  "  You  will  come  in  and 
warm  yourself,  and  take  a  glass  of 
wine  with  me? "  said  she. 

The  Captain  found  voice  to 
stammer  out,  "  I  shall  have  much 
pleasure,  Madame." 

"  It  is  very  lonesome  in  Terre 
Blanche,"  said  tht  widow;  "  there 
is  no  companionship,"  and  she 
looked  questioningly  at  the  Cap- 
tain, who  was  seated  opposite  to 
her  at  the  little  table  in  the  snug 


144 


Two  Old  Soldiers 


parlor.     On  the  table  were  a  de- 
canter of  wine  and  two  glasses. 

The  Captain,  in  the  joyousness 
of  the  moment,  was  about  to  reply 
that  life  was  never  more  pleasant, 
but  a  sudden  flash  of  memory  of 
some  past  dreary  days  led  him  to 
answer,  "  Really,  there  had  been 
times  when  life  had  been  most 
lonesome." 

"But  now?"  queried  the 
widow,  with  an  engaging  smile. 

"  Madame,  in  the  sunshine  of 
your  presence  life  could  not  be 
other  than  pleasant,"  and  here  the 
old  soldier  raised  his  glass  to  his 
lips,  adding,  "Your  very  good 
health,  Madame." 

The  widow  laughed  in  her  rip- 
pling way.  "Ah!  you  men,  a 
sad,  sad  lot.  But  you  will  come 
again,  M*sieu*  le  Capitaine,  and 
you  will  tell  me  of  your  battles." 


J 


It  I 


The    Captain   left    the    house 
^wmg^ng;  his  stick  and  carrZ 

"e  was  even  humming  "'ii/a/' 
h-ouckjen  va-t-en  guerre."  Ma- 
dame Fardif,  who  had  watched  i^L 
departure,  turned  to  her  gossj 

Madame     Rancon,     and    ?,'T' 

"  Tho,^  "     said : 

i  here  goes  another  of  the  old 

oojandhemustbehardbitt:;^ 
Lieutenant  Constant  paced  the 

de£  fr  *"'*  '"°"""^'  --- 

at  the  contmued  absence  of  his 

"end.     Madame  Sylvain,  at  the 

toll-house,  finally  taking  pity  on 

;? /'""^"ff-'ooking   fid'  LX 

came  out  of  her  door. 

le'rlT-  "'*  ^'"'"^  '°'  ^'^^'• 
feCa/.ite«^,,s,tnotso?"saidshe. 


146 


Two  Old  Soldiers 


"  You  are  right,  Madame;  the 
Captain  is  late  to-day." 

"  Little  wonder,  mon  ami;  he  is 
only  like  other  men  I  know,  who 
think  the  joys  of  Paradise  are 
concealed  behind  a  widow's  veil. 
If  you  would  find  your  friend  you 
must  look  for  him  at  the  feet  of 
Madame  La  Jeune." 

Lieutenant  Constant,  without  a 
word  in  reply,  strode  across  the 
bridge. 

Sacrebleu!  So  his  friend  had  be- 
come a  victim  to  the  widow's 
wiles,  and  his  life  was  to  be 
wrecked  to  afford  her  an  idle  holi- 
day. The  old  man  stamped  his 
stick  with  passion  upon  the  frozen 
ground.  "  But  it  shall  not  be," 
added  he  to  himself. 

The    following    morning    the 
Lieutenant,  arrayed  in  his  semi- 
military  dress,  his  mustachios  hav- 
H7 


■^fi 


fcifaB 


•ng   a   fiercer   curl   than    usual 
crossed  the  bridge,  and  walked 

''ir"V?;'!f''°"'''°f 'he  widow. 

Ah !  Madame,"  said  he,  as  the 

widow  admitted   him,   "I   have 

come  to  you  for  sympathy  and  a 

The  widow  beamed  upon  him. 
Were  was  another  conquest 
another  tribute  to  her  chL;! 

"  Yo,,''"      ■^°:^°'    "'•=   Captain. 
You  are  right  in  coming  to  me 

J"7~     It  is  I  who  know 
what  .t  .s  to  be  lonesome,  and  can 

sympathize  with  you." 

She  brought  out  the  decanter 
of  wme,  and  the  Lieutenant  pro- 

Ah  he  was  so  droll  with  his  camp 
^ones  ,ith  their  naughty  flavor 
The  w.dow  was  in  tears  of  laugh- 
Here  there  was  a  rap  at  the 

148 


Two  Old  Soldiers 


door.     The  widow  admitted  Cap- 
tain Le  Garde. 

"  Ho !  comrade,  it  is  you?"  said 
the  Lieutenant.     "  I  am  glad  to 
see  you.     Madame  and  I  were 
having  a  laugh  together  over  old 
times."     And  without  giving  any 
further  heed  to  the  Captain  he 
continued  his  attentions  to  the 
widow.     He  acted  his  part  well. 
The  widow  was  flattered;  she  had 
no  eyes  or  ears  for  the  Captain, 
who  mostly  sat  silent  and  morose 
until  his  departure. 

The  Lieutenant  came  again;  so 
did  the  Captain;  but  the  former 
was  all  ardor,  and  the  Captain 
furious.  He  sat  and  glared  at 
both  the  widow  and  the  Lieuten- 
ant; then  he  rose  to  take  his  leave. 
At  the  door  the  widow  said  to 
him,  "  You  will  come  again?  " 


149 


rii 


Two  Old  Soldiers 


1^!:,; 


{( 


Never,"  thundered  the  Cap- 
tain, as  he  rushed  away. 

"  Oh !  fie,  fie !  "  said  the  widow, 
as  she  closed  the  door,  "  how  jeal- 
ous you  men  are  of  one  another." 
The  Lieutenant  could  not  re- 
press a  chuckle,  and  he,  too,  de- 
parted to  return  no  more,  but  this 
he  did  not  say  to  the  widow.     He 
quite  forgot,  however,  the  Cap- 
tain's anger  toward  himself.     But 
as  days  went  by  and  the  Captain 
came  not  to  the  bridge,  the  truth 
dawned    upon    the    Lieutenant. 
"He  will  get  over  it,"  said  he  to 
himself;  but  the  winter  days  were 
gray  and  dreary  now  without  his 
comrade,  and  from  very  worry  he 
took  to  his  bed  and  sent  for  Ma- 
dame Magloire  to  care  for  him. 

So  long  as  the  Captain's  rage 
lasted  his  daily  walks  were  in  the 
direction  away  from  the  bridge, 
ISO 


Two  Old  Soldiers 


but  he  soon  grew  tired  of  nursing 
his  anger,  and  sighed  for  a  return 
to  the  friendship  in  which  he  had 
been  so  happy.  He  went  to  the 
bridge  daily  now,  his  old  heart 
yearning  for  a  reconciliation,  but 
the  Lieutenant  came  not.  "  He 
is  still  stiff,"  thought  the  Captain, 
"  but  he  will  come  round  yet." 

And  so  the  eve  of  Christmas 
came.     Terre  Blanche  was  aglow 
with  lights  and  excitement  pre- 
ceding the  midnight  mass,  that 
joyous  event  which,  in  a  French 
village,  transcends  all  others  in 
the  hearts  of  the  people.     The 
church  blazed  amid  the  brilliant 
decorations.     As  the  Captain  en- 
tered the  sacred  edifice  the  beauti- 
ful  Christmas  motto,   "  Gloire  d 
Dieii,  paix  aux  hommes  de  bonne 
volonte,"  stared  him  in  the  face. 
Its  potent  meaning  never  seemed 


hi.  ■ 

I 


11 

III 


t 


Two  Old  Soldiers 


so  dear  to  him.  He  glanced  in  the 
direction  of  the  Lieutenant's  seat. 
It  was  vacant.  The  mass  went  on, 
but  the  Captain's  mind  was  with 
his  old  comrade.  He  could  scarce 
contain  his  anxiety  until  the  first 
mass  was  finished  and  the  bene- 
diction pronounced.  Then  he 
left  the  church. 

The  stars,  and  an  aurora  that 
spanned  the  heavens,  lighted  his 
road  to  the  house  of  the  English- 
man. A  faint  voice  answered  his 
rap  by  saying:  "  Enter,  comrade, 
and  '  Glory  to  God  and  peace  on 
earth  to  men  of  good  will.'  " 

As  the  Captain  stepped  into  the 
room,  the  Lieutenant,  haggard- 
looking,  but  with  a  smile  of  sweet- 
ness upon  his  rugged  old  face,  sat 
bolt  upright  in  his  bed.  "Ah! 
comrade,"  said  he,  "  I  knew  thou 
wouldst  come  this  night  that  I 
152 


liers 

meed  in  the 
nant's  seat. 
iss  went  on, 
d  was  with 
ould  scarce 
til  the  first 
the  bene- 
Then   he 

urora  that 
lighted  his 
e  English- 
swered  his 
,  comrade, 
I  peace  on 
ill/  " 
:d  into  the 
haggard- 
;  of  sweet- 
i  face,  sat 
i.     "Ah! 
new  thou 
It  that  I 


Two  Old  Soldiers 


might  tell  thee  that  what  I  did 
was  to  save  thee  pain  and  suffer- 
ing from  a  woman's  hands;  but  it 
has  been  lonely  waiting,  comrade. 
I  feared  to  send  for  thee  lest  thou 
wouldst  not  understand.  We 
shall  be  friends  as  before?  "  and  he 
looked  wistfully  at  the  Captain. 

The  latter  for  answer  stooped 
over  and  kissed  the  Lieutenant  on 
both  cheeks,  and  the  silence  of  a 
great  joy  fell  upon  the  two  old 
men  that  Christmas  morn. 


153 


i    !  I 


II       I 


Love  Transferred 


l.^immH 


V>    I 


It  -  »1 


love  Transferred 


T  RMA  sat  on  the  little  gallery  of 
•*■  the   house   just    outside   the 
doer.     The  last  bell,  preceding 
the  commencement  of  the  mass, 
had  ceased  ringing,  and  the  late 
stragglers  had  all  hurried  by.    She 
was  quite  alone  now  except  for  the 
bobolink  that  hung  in  the  cage 
under  the  eaves  above  her  head. 
It  was  full  of  love-song  this  beau- 
tiful morning,  and  answering  song 
came  from  the  fields  across  the 
road  that  were  still  yellow  with 
marsh-marigolds.      The   joyous- 
ness  of  budding  summer  lay  upon 
all  t*    >ind  in  a  soft,  sensuous  haze 
and  v\  elusive  fragrance  of  flowers 
•' ;  •  ^?aves  and  all  green  things. 
157 


Ill   '" 


Ml 


iii 


iI^^Hb, 


Love  Transferred 


To    the    girl    sitting    on    the 
porch,    violently    rocking    back- 
ward and  forward  and  chewing 
gum,  with  a  heavy  frown  upon  her 
face,  the  idyllic  morn  and  scene 
was  but  an  insult  to  her  unrest  and 
discontent.     She  was  not  at  mass 
because  her  banns  with  Gaudiose 
Noreau  were  to  be  called  for  the 
third  and  last  time,  and  the  wed- 
ding would  follow  on  Wednesday. 
It  was  simply  hateful,  thought  the 
girl,  that  she  should  be  hurried 
into  marriage  with  Gaudiose  just 
as  Phillipe  Chalon,  her  old  lover, 
had  returned  from  the  States  with 
every  desire  apparently  to  resume 
the  relationship  of  former  days. 
She  contrasted  the  plodding  back- 
woods Gaudiose,  in  his  homespun 
suit  and  bottes  sauvage,  with  the 
dashing  Phillipe  in  the  glory  of 
store-clothes,    a   castor,    patent- 
158 


Love  Transferred 


leather    shoes,    a    massive    gold 
watch-chain,    and    that   impress- 
ment of  the  man  who  had  seen  the 
world,  and  it  made  her  feel  like- 
like  doing  something  desperate, 
she  hardly  knew  what.      Her  life 
now  was  to  be  a  blank  in  a  back 
parish,  whereas  with  Phillipe  she 
would  take  her  position  in  Terre 
Blanche  as  the  social  ecual  of  the 
wives  of  the  notary,  the  advocate, 
and  the  mill-owner. 

Backward    and    forward    she 
rocked  more  violently  than  be- 
fore, and  her  jaws  were  working 
like  a  trip-hammer  on  the  piece  of 
pm,  but  htr  eyes  were  staring 
into  vacancy.     She  did  not  even 
hear  approaching  footsteps,  but  a 
well-known  voice  almost  at  her 
side  brought  her  to  earth  again 
with  a  start,  and  a  flushed  look  of 
joy  in  her  face  : 

159 


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Love  1  ransferred 


"Ah!  Mamsclle,  looking  n.oie 
charming  than  ever,"  and  Phillipe 
gave  a  graceful  flourish  of  his  hat. 
Irma  gave  her  head  a  little  toss 
as  she  answered,  "  You  are  late  in 
finding  if  out,  M'sieu'  Chalon." 

"  Not  so,  Mamselle;  only  in 
making  it  known.  But  that  -s 
where  that  fellow  Gaudiose  has 
the  advantage  of  me;  he  is  clev- 
erer, as  you  know." 

"  And  better,  perhaps?  "  added 
Irma,  somewhat  defiantly. 

"  Without  doubt,  Mamsell* 
but  goodness  and  >ttes  sauva^. 
go  together;  and  how  could  it  be 
otherwise, — ont  has  r  loi  e  time  to 
think  and  pray  in  the  backwoods," 
said  Phillipe,  with  a  malicious 
laugh,  as  he  made  a  place  for  i  m- 
self  on  the  gallery  at  the  g  I's 
feet. 

The  girl  winced  at  this  coarse 
i6o 


Love  Transferred 


home  thrust,  but  she  only  replied 
by  saying,  "  How  is  it,  Phillipe, 
that  you  are  not  at  mass  this 
morning?  " 

"  For  the  same  reason,  Irma, 
that  you  are  not  there, — a.  certain 
announcement  that  I  do  not  care 
to  hear  until  it  comes  from  your 
own  lips,  replied  PhxHipe;  then 
rising,  he  suddenly  seize  the  girl 
by  both  hands,  saying,  "  Is  it 
still  too  late,  Irma,  to  tuui  a  pr'r 
of  bottes  sauvage  away  from  Te. 
Blanche? "  and  he  fixed  the  girl 
with  a  pair  of  ardent  eyes. 

She  made  no  attempt  to  disen- 
gage her  hands.  Phillipe's  firm 
grasp  of  them  lent  her  the 
strength  to  answer:  "I  don't 
kno^-,  Phillipe;  it  might  depend 
upon  the  pair  of  shoes  that  took 
their  place,  and  what  their  owner 
meant." 

i6x 


il 


Love  Transferred 


Phillipe  lowered  his  face  to  the 
girl's  until  she  could  feel  his  hot 
breath  on  her  cheek.  "  He 
means,"  said  he,  "that  he  will 
marry  you  if  you  will  turn  that  fel- 
low Gaudiose  away  when  he 
comes  to-day." 

The  girl  seemed  to  consider  for 
a  moment  before  she  replied :  "  Fll 
do  it,  Phillipe,  for  I've  hated  him 
ever  since  you  came  back." 

"  No  wonder,  ma  cherie,'  said 
Phillipe,  as  he  kissed  the  girl's 
burning  cheek;  "he  is  only  a 
habitant;'  and  Phillipe  tried  to 
look  the  superiority  that  he  felt  at 
heart  over  the  unfortunate  Gau- 
diose. "  Now  I  must  be  off  be- 
fore the  church  people  come 
along,  but  I'll  be  back  to-mor- 
row." 

The   girl   watched   him   down 
the    road    with    admiring    eyes. 
162 


ml'i.^. 


Love  Transferred 


"  Saints !  "  said  she  to  herself,  '*  he 
is  so  gentil." 

When  old  Beaulieu,  Irma's 
father,  had  divested  himself  of  his 
mass-going  coat  and  collar  and 
sat  himself  down  for  a  quiet  smoke 
while  the  girl  was  preparing  the 
midday  meal,  she  stopped  in  the 
midst  of  her  work,  and  addressing 
him,  said : 

"  Were  the  banns  called  in  the 
church  this  morning?  " 

"  Yes." 

"Well,  it's  a  pity!  Phillipe 
Chalon  has  asked  me  to  marry 
him,  and  I  have  given  *  yes '  for 
an  answer." 

The  old  man  gave  the  re- 
semblance of  a  whistle  through 
his  toothless  gums.  "You've 
changed  your  mind  somewhat 
late,"  said  he. 

"I    have   never   changed   my 
163 


Love  Transferred 


mind,"  replied  the  girl.  "  I  have 
always  said  I  would  marry  Phil- 
lipeifheaskedme." 

As  old  Beaulieu's  interest  in  the 
rival  claimants  for  the  hand  of  his 
daughter  lay  in  their  ability  to 
provide  him  a  home,  he  himself 
looked  with  the  most  favor  upon 
Phillipe,  so  he  contented  himself 
by  simply  remarking,  "  You  must 
arrange  this  thing  yourself." 

"  I  am  quite  certain  not  to  call 
upon  you,"  said  the  girl,  with  an 
emphasis  upon  the  "  you  "  that 
left  no  doubt  as  to  her  meaning. 


164 


Mr 


Love  Transferred 


II 

Gaudiose    Noreau,    in   blissful 
unconsciousness  of  what  changes 
fate  had  in  store  for  him,  and  with 
his  mind  filled  with  Irma  and  mar- 
riage,   had    spent    the    pleasant 
morning  in  a  satisfactory  looking- 
oyer    his     worldly     possessions. 
Montagne   d'Erable,    on   which 
Gaudiose  lived,  bears  an  unenvia- 
ble name  among  the  people  who 
dwell  in  the  rich  valley  at  its  foot. 
It  is  true  that  the  outcrop  of  rock 
IS  always  more  in  evidence  than 
the  incrop  of  grain  or  hay,  but  the 
cut  of  cordwood  in  winter  made 
good  to  some  extent  the  other 
shortages,  and  as  happiness  is  not 
to  be  measured  by  mere  wealth, 
but  by  the  contentment  with  one's 
165 


ji^ove  Transferred 

lot,  the  inhabitants  of  Montague 
c  Erable  had  no  occasion  for  en- 
vying  their   lowland   neighbors. 
Gaudiose  was  delightedly  content 
with  his  survey  of  his  holdings. 
His  little  house  of  squared  logs 
had  recently  received  a  fresh  coat 
of  whitewash  from  chimney-top  to 
foundation,  and  shone  very  bright 
under  the  June  sun.     The  nastur- 
tiums, in  the  lattice-inclosed  beds 
alongside  of  the  house,  were  well 
up,  and  would  soon  require  train- 
ing,  but  that  would  be  Irma's 
work.     If,  as  yet,  there  were  few 
other  plants  planted  in  the  little 
garden,  there  was  a  fine  showing 
for    a   good    return    of   carrots, 
onions,    parsley,    millet,    lettuce, 
radishes,  that  are  in  such  good  de- 
mand upon  the  open  market  in 
Quebec  on  the  Saturday;  for  since 
he  had  purchased  another  cow  he 

1 66 


Love  Transferred 

would  have  to  go  to  the  market 

to  sell  his  butter  and  the  eggs  from 
the  hens.  In  winter,  now,  he 
could  draw  cordwood  while  Irma 
looked  after  the  stock.  There 
was  no  danger;  she  would  find 
Montagne  d'Erable  a  pleasant 
place  to  live  in. 

After  an  early  and  frugal  meal 
Gaudiose  made  immediate  prep- 
arations for  his  long  drive  to  Terre 
Blanche.    Several  mysterious  and 
Huffy-looking  parcels  were  packed 
away  in  the  rear  of  the  two-wheel 
sprmg  cart,  then  followed  a  large 
bandbox,   which   he  handled  as 
carefully  as  though  it  contained 
eggs.     The  horse  was  harnessed 
to  the  cart,  and  then  allowed  to 
graze  by  the  house  while  Gaudi- 
ose  put  the  last  finishing  touches 
to  his  toiltt,  coming  out  of  the 
house  a  few  moments  later  with 
167 


Love  Transferred 


such  a  shine  upon  his  freshly 
shaven  face  that  it  might  have 
been  mistaken  for  the  glow  of 
satisfaction  that  lay  at  his  heart. 

Irma  was  alone  in  the  house 
when  he  arrived,  and  his  reception 
by  her  would  have  at  once  aroused 
the  suspicion  of  a  less  obtuse  man 
than    Gaudiose    that    there   was 
something  wrong,  but  in  the  in- 
nocent simplicity  of  his  heart,  and 
with  a  smirk  of  much  contentment 
upon  his  face,  he  produced  the 
parcels  and  the  bandbox,  exclaim- 
ing, "  There,  Irma,  is  your  mar- 
riage  outfit.     Bon  Dieii,   but   it 
gave  me  much  trouble  to  select 
It!     It  is  fine,  though;  not  such 
another  has  ever  come  to  Mon- 
tagne  d'Erable." 

She  seized  the  box  somewhat 
rudely  from  him,  and  opening  it, 
extracted  from  its  depths  a  hat 
i68 


Love  Transferred 

which  she  held  up  in  her  hand  at 
arm's  length,  and  twirling  it  about 
with  an  affectation  of  scorn  and 
contempt,  thus  delivered  herself: 
"  And  this  is  what  you  call  a  hat, 
M'sieu'  Gaudiose,— a  thing  not  fit 
to   cover  a   cabbage-head!     Do 
you  intend  to  set  me  up  in  one  of 
your  fields  as  a  scarecrow?    Dieu 
defend  that  I  should  ever  sit  at  the 
altar-rail  with  such  an  affair  on  mv 
head ! "  ^ 

Poor   Gaudiose   was   stunned. 
He  had  gi/en  almost  a  day  of 
anxious  thought  and  worry  in  de- 
ciding upon  this  hat  among  the 
many  gorgeous  creations  that  had 
been  submitted   to   him   by  the 
shopkeepers  in  St.  Rochs,  and  he 
had  laid  unction  at  his  heart  that 
his  final  selection  contained  more 
various  colors  in  it  than  any  other 
he  had  seen,  and  was  most  chic. 
169 


Love  Transferred 


"  Why,  Irma,"  he  managed  to 
stanmer  out,  "  the  young  ladies 
in  the  shop  told  me  it  was  most 
beautiful ! " 

"Did   they,   indeed,   and  you 
were  just  fool  enough  to  believe 
it?    Did  they  also  tell  you  that  I 
would  look  most  charming  in  this 
old  bed-gown  5^ou  are  pleased  to 
call  a  dress?    And  these  shoes," 
holding  up  a  pair  of  rather  clumsy- 
looking  articles  of  footwear,  "  did 
you  buy  me  these  to  help  you 
plow  with  ?     Bah !  a  man  who  has 
no  more  sense  than  you  have  don't 
deserve  a  wife." 

"  Why,  Irma,  how  can  you  say 
such  things?"  repHed  Gaudiose, 
somewhat  feebly. 

"Say  such  things?"  said  the 

girl,  in  a  high-pitched  voice,  for 

she  had  now  wrought  herself  up 

to  a  rage.     "  Well,  M'sieu'  Gau- 

170 


Love  Transferred 

diose,  I've  more  to  say !  You  can 
bundle  yourself  and  your  outfit 
away  from  here  as  fast  as  you 
please,  for  marry  you  I  won't,  and 
there's  an  end  of  it !  " 

Gaudiose  stood  silent  and  ir- 
resolute as  though  doubting  his 
sense  of  hearing. 

"Why  don't  you  go?"  said 
Irma,  impatiently  stamping  her 
foot.  "I  mean  every  word  I 
say." 

"But  the  banns  have  been 
called  for  the  last  time,"  replied 
Gaudiose,  not  knowing  what  else 
to  say  for  the  moment. 

"Thank   heaven   it's   nothing 
worse!"     the     girl     answered 
Now  go,"  and  she  pointed  to 
the  door. 

Gaudiose  in  silence  gathered  up 
the  scattered  wardrobe.    At  the 
door  he  turned  and  would  have 
171 


Love  Transferred 


spoken,  but  the  girl  anticipated 
him,  and  with  finder  still  pointing 
at  the  door,  she  again  said,  "  Now 
go!" 

Gaudiose,  with  a  dull  sense  of 
disappointment    and    shame    at 
having    been    thus    unceremoni- 
ously   dismissed,     bundled     the 
wardrobe    into     his    cart,     and 
mounting  to  the  seat,  gave  his 
horse  a  crack  of  the  whip  and 
rattled  across  the  bridge  and  past 
the  toll  at  such  a  rate  that  Ma- 
dame Sylvain  only  reached  the 
open  door  in  time  to  see  the  cart 
going  up  the  long  hill;  but  she 
noticed  the  bandbox,  as  she  had 
noted  it  an  hour  before  going  the 
other  way. 

"I  wonder,"  thought  she  to 
herself,  "if  Gaudiose  is  eating 
oats?"  which  is  our  Canadian 
way  of  expressing  being  crossed 
in  matters  of  love. 


TTa 


Love  Transferred 


III 

"  Liza,"  said  Madame  Aigral  to 
her  good-looking  daughter/'  you 
will  set  the  table  again  to-day  at 
the  roadside." 

"  But,  mama,  no  one  stopped  to 
buy  last  Sunday,  and  it  is  discour- 
aging." 

"  Nevertheless,  Liza,  you  will 
try  again;  to-day  it  will  be  differ- 
ent, and  the  croqiiignoles  are 
growing  stale.  Then,  how  are 
we  going  to  pay  for  those  cigars 
and  tobacco  if  we  do  not  sell 
any?  " 

"  Mama,  I  will  go  to  Quebec  to 
service." 

"  Liza,  never  let  me  hear  you 
say  that  again.  No  Aigral  ever 
did  such  a  thing." 

173 


Love  Transferred 


"  But  we  must  live,"  persisted 
the  girl. 

"  The  bon  Dieu  will  protect  us," 
answered  Madame  Aigral,  with 
simple  faith  in  the  all-providing 
care  of  the  Deity  that  admitted  of 
no  further  argument. 

The  little  table  accordingly  was 
placed  under  the  n;  .de  of  the  big 
willow,  and  ir5,\iti  sgiy  decked  with 
the  wares  likely  l ;)  tempt  the  cas- 
ual passer-by — a  dish  of  croquig- 
noles,  a  half-dozen  doubtful  cigars 
in  a  tumbler,  some  small  packages 
of  tobacco,  a  dozen  sticks  of  pep- 
permint candy  in  another  tumbler, 
and  several  bottles  of  Madame 
Aigral's  home-made  spruce  beer. 
The  girl  brought  out  her  rocker 
and  placed  it  so  that  she  could 
command  the  road  and  at  the 
same  time  hold  eas>  conversation 


174 


lii:  ii' 


j^ve  Transferred 

with  her  mother  through  the  near- 
est open  window. 

The  road  from  Terre  Blanche  to 
Monta^ne  d'Erable  is  never  a 
much  traveled   one,  but  it  was 
more  than  usually  deserted  this 
pleasant  Sunday  afternoon.  Hope 
at  first  ruled  strong  in  the  heart  of 
the  girl,  for  Prudent  Tranquille, 
passmg  early,  had  stopped  to  pur- 
chase a  cigar  and  a  cooling  drink 
of  Madame's  spruce  beer,  while 
exchanging  compliments  with  the 
daughter;  but  as  after  his  depart- 
ure several  hours  went  by  with 
no  further  sale  to  record,  Liza's 
hope    gave    place    to    despair. 
Besides,    some    ominous-looking 
clouds  rolling  up  from  the  east 
foretold    a    coming   shower    ere 
long. 

"  I  tell  you,  mama,  it  is  no  use," 


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j^s  1653  East  Main  Street 
^^li  Rochester,  NY  14609  USA 
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.^=r.S=  Fax:  716/288-5989 

0 1993,  Applied  Image,  'nc.,  All  Rights  Reserved 


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Love  Transferred 


«*■ 


said  the  girl  through  the  open 
window. 

"  Patience,  my  child;  who 
knows  what  may  happen  yet?  " 

"  It  is  always  patience,  patience, 
with  you,  mama,  until  Fve  no 
more  patience  left,"  and  Liza's 
tones  indicated  the  truth  of  the 
latter  part  of  her  statement. 

Was  it  the  simple  faith  of  Ma- 
dame Aigral,  or  simply  fate, 
that  within  a  few  minutes  after 
the  above  conversation  between 
mother  and  daughter,  Gaudiose 
Noreau  stopped,  and  jumping 
from  his  cart,  said  somewhat  ab- 
ruptly to  the  girl,  "  Come,  Liza, 
tie  up  those  croquignoles  for  me; 
give  me  two  or  three  cigars  and  a 
glass  of  beer  "  ? 

"  You  seem  to  be  in  something 
of  a  hurry  to-day,  M'sieu*  Gaudi- 
ose, and  much  earlier  than  usual  in 
176 


Love  Transferred 


returning  from  Terre  Blanche; 
but  I  suppose  you  were  afraid  of 
getting  the  bandbox  wet." 

"Hang  the  bandbox,  Liza! 
Tm  never  going  to  Terre  Blanche 
again!"  blurted  out  poor  Gau- 
diose. 

"What?  "said  Liza;  but  some 
big  drops  of  rain  just  then  led  her 
to  hastily  add,  "  Help  me  carry 
the  table  into  the  house,  Gaudiose, 
and  then  bring  the  bandbox  and 
parcels  out  of  the  wet." 

When  the  house  had  been  se- 
curely shut  against  the  storm, 
Liza  turned  to  Gaudiose,  who  was 
silently  pulling  away  at  his  cigar 
in  a  comer,  and  said : 

"  So  you  are  not  going  again  to 
Terre  Blanche?" 

"  No,  never,"  replied  Gaudiose 
in  the  voice  of  a  martyr.     "  IVe 
been  invited  to  stay  away.      My 
X77 


m 


Love  Transferred 


outfit  was  not  fit  to  dress  a  scare- 
crow with.  Madame  Aigral,  I 
call  upon  you  and  Liza  to  judge 
whether  such  is  the  case,"  added 
he,  in  a  passion,  getting  up  and 
opening  the  bandbox  and  lifting 
out  the  much-despised  hat. 

Both    women    uttered    a    de- 
lighted "  How  beautiful !  " 

"  Liza,  you  will  put  it  on,"  said 
Gaudiose. 

And  Liza,  nothing  loath,  stood 
before  the  little  looking-glass  and 
arranged  it  in  the  most  becoming 
manner.  When  she  turned  a 
laughing  face  to  her  mother  and 
Gaudiose,  they  were  both  filled 
with  admiration. 

"  Hein !  "  exclaimed  Gaudiose, 
exultingly,  "  does  Liza  look  like  a 
scarecrow,  Madame?" 

"  She  looks  like  an  angel,"  re- 
plied Madame. 

178 


Love  Transferred 


"  Ah !  Madame,  you  could  bet- 
ter judge  if  Liza  would  also  put  on 
the  dress  and  cape,"  said  the  now 
proud  Gaudiose. 

*'  You  hear  what  Gaudisoe  says, 
LJ^a;  you  will  pat  on  the  dress 
and  cape." 

When  the  girl  returned  to  the 
room  a  few  moments  later,  attired 
in  the  finery  intended  for  another, 
she  herself  was  pleased  with  her 
own  appearance,  and  the  height- 
ened color  and  the  sparkle  in  her 
black  eyes  lent  an  added  charm  to 
the  ensemble. 

Gaudiose  was  in  an  ecstasy  of 
delight,  and  readily  assented  to 
Madame's  invitation  that  he 
should  take  tea  with  them.  He 
lighted  his  pipe  now,  and  follov^ed 
every  movement  of  the  girl  with 
devouring   eyes,    as   she    glided 

>79 


Love  Transferred 


about  the  room  getting  ready  the 
meal. 

When  Madame,  about  nine,  re- 
tired for  her  devotions,  Gaudiose 
seated  himself  on  the  "  settle  "  be- 
side Liza. 

"So  you  like  the  outfit?" 
said  he. 

"  I  think  it's  lovely,"  answered 
Liza,  honestly. 

"And  it  is  so  becoming  to 
you,"  said  Gaudiose,  edging 
closer  to  the  girl.  "  Say,  Liza, 
will  you  take  the  outfit  and  me 
with  it?" 

"  But,  Gaudiose,  you  are  eating 
oats." 

"Well,  Vm  not  going  to  eat 
them  any  longer  if  you'U  say  *  yes.' 
I've  been  a  fool,  Liza,  but  I  am 
not  an  animal." 

"  Mama,"  called  the  girl,  "Gau- 
doise  asks  me  if  I  will  take  the 

i8q 


Love  Transferred 


outfit  and  him  with  it.      What 
shall  I  say?  " 

"  What  will  you  say?  "  queried 
Madame,  appearing  at  the  room 
door,  rosary  in  hand.  "  Why," 
with  great  decision,  "you  will 
say  'yes,'  and  not  disturb  me 
again  at  my  prayers." 

Some  few  weeks  later,  by  one 
of  those  strange  coincidences,  two 
wedding  parties  met  on  the  road. 
Madame  Chalon  (nee  Irma  Beau- 
lieu)  was  resplendent  in  silks  and 
feathers;  but  as  Gaudiose  turned 
to  his  wife  beside  him,  a  great 
wave  of  pride  and  contentment 
swept  over  him.     She  certainly 
looked    very   handsome    in    the 
"  outfit." 


i8i 


U  i 


The  Apotheosis  of  Paddy 
Larrisey 


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ii 


The  Apotheosis  of  Paddy 
Larrisey 

■p  ROM  whatever  point  of  view 
-■-      you  regarded  it,  our  parish 
was  a  flat  contradiction  of  all  the 
laws  which  are  supposed  to  reg- 
ulate the  coming  into  being  of  a 
community  whose  only  means  of 
subsistence  was  from  the  land. 
The  elements  physical  and  human 
were  rugged  and  austere,  with 
little  to  lighten  the  gloom  of  the 
fierce  contest  between  them  for 
supremacy. 

A  noisy,  rapid-tossed  river 
made  possible  a  narrow  valley  in- 
closed with  granite-ribbed  moun- 
tains. A  road  followed  the  tortu- 
ous river  windings,  and  the  farms 
185 


Apotheosis    of  Paddy  Larrisev 

ran    up    the    mountain-sides    in 
three-acre  strips,  as  was  the  cus- 
tom of  the  country.     As  the  val- 
ley became  populated,  settlement 
pushed  over  and  along  the  tops  of 
the  mountains—wherever  a  foot- 
hold could  be  obtained.  A  worthy 
Scotchman  was  the  founder  of  our 
parish,    the   government   having 
conceded  him  a  vast  tract  of  wild 
lands  in  the  rear  of  the  old  French 
parishes  in  the  rich  and  fertile  val- 
ley of  the  St.  Lawrence  River,  and 
north  of  the  city  of  Quebec.     He 
had  peopled  it  with  all  conditions 
and  races  of  men,  with  the  famines 
of  the  Old  Worid  behind  them, 
and  the  land  hunger  of  the  New 
Worid  in  their  hearts.    Few  of  the 
settlers  had  been  bred  farmers,  but 
were  of  many  trades  and  occupa- 
tions.    Cast  upon  the  wharves  of 
Quebec  with  no  capital  other  than 

i86 


^addy  Larriscy   I    Apotheosis   of  Paddy  Larrisey 


untain-sides    in 
IS  was  the  cus- 
V'     As  the  val- 
ted,  settlement 
ong  the  tops  of 
herever  a  foot- 
ned.  A  worthy 
founder  of  our 
nment   having 
5t  tract  of  wild 
the  old  French 
and  fertile  val- 
nce  River,  and 
Quebec.     He 
all  conditions 
th  the  famines 
behind  them, 
r  of  the  New 
5.    Few  of  the 
i  farmers,  but 
and  occupa- 
le  wharves  of 
al  other  than 


sturdy  arms  and  a  numerous  pro- 
geny, the  offer  of  land  for  almost 
the  taking  was  not  to  be  resisted, 
and  once  in  possession  nothing 
could  root  them  from  it.  Yet, 
every  acre  had  to  be  reclaimed 
from  dense  forest,  and  gaunt  hun- 
ger would  have  stalked  in  their 
midst  before  the  settlers  obtained 
a  sufficiency  from  the  soil  to  sup- 
ply their  wants,  had  not  fish  and 
game  been  abundant. 

Spring  came  late,  summer 
was  short,  and  autumn  merged 
quickly  into  the  long  winter  of 
fierce  cold  and  deep  snows.  We 
were  forced  to  adopt  some  of  the 
customs  of  our  French  neighbors, 
and  our  rude  houses  of  logs,  with 
few  windows,  kept  out  the  win- 
ter's blasts,  while  the  great  ob- 
long three-decker  stove  kept 
us  warm.  We  dressed  summer 
187 


Apotheosis    of  Paddy  Larrisey 


and  winter  in  the  itoife  du  pays, 
and  we  soon  adopted  the  long  beef 
moccasins  for  our  feet.  In  all 
other  respects,  however,  we  clung 
tenaciously  to  the  customs  of  our 
respective  countries.  We  were  as 
Scotch  as  a  Highland  glen,  as 
Irish  as  Killamey,  or  as  English  as 
Yorkshire,  and  the  dividing  lines 
were  but  a  line  fence  or  a  piece  of 
bush.  National  prejudices  and 
rancor  were  strongly  implanted  in 
us,  and  we  made  active  contention 
to  keep  alive  our  ancient  customs 
and  to  assert  our  dislikes.  The 
dependency  upon  one  another's 
good  services  in  time  of  need  or 
trouble  might  temporarily  estab- 
lish a  truce  to  our  hostilities  in 
order  that  we  might  make  cause 
against  the  common  enemy, 
want  and  nature,  but  peace  was 
never  proclaimed. 
i88 


Apotheosis   of  Paddy  Larrisev 

When  Moriarty  fell  sick  at  the 
potato  planting  it  was  Bbck  Gor- 
don and  his  boys  who  put  his  crop 
in  for  him,  and  shortly  upon  his 
recovery  gave  him  a  beating  at  the 
end  of  a  dispute  over  a  line  drain. 
Moriarty    retaliated    by    pulling 
Gordon  out  of  the  river  that  win- 
ter amid  the  floating  ice,  to  the 
imminent  peril  of  his  own  life,  and 
Gordon  felt  no  coals  of  fire  heaped 
upon  his  head. 

When  the  entire  parish  took 
sides,  and  matters  began  to  as- 
sume a  critical  aspect,  the  three 
clerical  gentlemen  who  presided 
over  the  spiritual  aflfairs  of  the 
people  would  suspend  their  own 
religious  differences  for  the  mo- 
ment to  preach  a  gospel  of  tolera- 
tion and  good  will  among  men; 
this  was  most  edifying  to  listen  to' 
but  somehow  failed  of  its  purpose 
189 


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'i*iiiil 


ii       I 


Apotheosis   of  Paddy  Larrisey 

in  the  crisis  of  a  municipal  election 
or  a  school-board  meeting — for 
the  same  reasons  perhaps  that  old 
McAnney  failed  to  establish 
"  pace  "  at  such  gatherings.  He 
would  skirmish  upon  the  outer 
edge  of  the  crowd  with  pockets 
well  filled  with  stones,  one  of 
which  he  would  let  fly  with  telling 
effect  whenever  unobserved.  The 
row  then  breaking  out  afresh,  old 
McAnney  would  force  his  way 
into  the  thickest  of  the  fray,  call- 
ing out  in  indignant  tones :  "Pace, 
boys !  pace !  Remember  wat  the 
clergy  do  be  after  tellin'  us." 

Removals  from  our  parish  in 
those  early  days  were  rare.  The 
pride  of  possession,  and  the  at- 
tachment to  the  homes  hallowed 
by  the  creation  of  our  own  hands 
and  the  sweat  of  brow,  had  set  our 
roots  firmly  into  the  granite  of  the 
190 


iw 


idy  Larrisey      I      Apotheosis   of  PaddTHi^ 

mountains,  and  we  were  not  to  be 
stirred  except  by  the  one  great 
leveler-Death.     It   was   a   sur- 
prise,  therefore,   when  Sergeant 
Robin  Maxwell,  late  of  her  Majes- 
ty's 78th,  announced  to  his  neigh- 
bor, Sandy  McAlmon,  as  the  two 
toil-stained    men    stood    leaning 
wearily  over  the  fence  that  divided 
their  land  late  in  the  day  of  a 
September  plowing,  that  he  was 
a-wearyin'  wi'  the  struggle,  and 
gin  he  could  find  a  purchaser  for 
the  Ian'  he  would  'een  be  a  flittin'. 
^^  "Dods,   mon,"  continued  he, 
"  a  life  o'  sojerin'  a'm  thinkin'  no 
fits  a  mon  for  farmin'.    The  soun' 
o'  the  pipes  and  the  clank  o'  sword 
an'  rifle  are  mair  to  ma  taste  than 
fechtin'  wi'  stumps  an'  wrastlin' 
wi'ploo.     A  claymore,  Sandy,  is 
handier  in  ma  hand  than  ma  ax." 
Sandy  was  speechless  for  a  time, 
191 


Apotheosis   of  Paddy   Larrisey 

regarding  his  neighbor  as  a  man 
who  had  suddenly  taken  leave  of 
hib  senses,  and  then  he  answered 
cautiously : 

"  A'm  no  sayin'  your  no  richt, 
Robin,  but  it's  a  bonnie  farm,  an' 
it's  a'  your  ain,  an'  you'r'  your  ain 
maister." 

"  Ma  ain  maister,"  contemptu- 
ously replied  Robin.  "A'm  a 
slave,  an'  a'm  driven  nair  to  death 
in  chains  of  ma  ain  forgin'.  A'm 
gangin'  to  Quebec,  Sandy,  to  en- 
list the  noo." 

The  lurid  flame  of  late  sunset 
hung  upon  the  mountain-top, 
deep  shadows  crept  into  the  little 
valley,  while  the  mists  from  the 
new  plowed  fields  lay  close  to  the 
ground,  ere  the  two  men  sepa- 
rated, but  Robin's  determination 
remained  unshaken. 

A  few  evenings  later  he  jogged 
192 


y   Larrisey        I       Apotheosis  of  Paddy   Larriscy 

slowly  homeward  from  Quebec  m 
a  beatific  condition  of  mind  and 
body,  which  proceeded  from  two 
causes:    a    Queen's    shilling   lay 
buried  in  his  pocket,  and  a  little 
brown  jug  was  ensconced  in  a 
position  of  safety  and  readiness 
between  his  feet  in  the  front  of  the 
cart.     When  he  overtook  Paddy 
Larrisey   trudging   along   some- 
what unsteadily  under  the  double 
burden  of  over-indulgence  and  a 
sack  of  flour,  he  invited  Paddy  to 
a  seat  beside  him. 

The  drive  is  a  long  one,  the 
roads  were  rough,  and  the  night 
grew  dark  and  cold.  At  the  turn  of 
the  road  at  Lee's  corners  a  steep 
unfenced   hillside  made  a   close 
turn  a  necessity.     Robin  had  just 
handed  the  reins  to  Paddy,  and 
the  jug  was  being  uplifted  to  his 
mouth,  when  old  Bess,  with  a  per- 
193 


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m 

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1  m 

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mn 

bl! 

Apotheosis   of  Paddy   Larrisey 

versity  born  of  all  her  sex  liber- 
ately  went  over  the  declivity,  and 
men,  cart,  and  horse  rolled  to  the 
bottom  in  a  confused  heap. 

It  was  Robin  who  first  found 
voice.  "  Paddy,"  exclaimed  he, 
faintly,  "  a'm  'een  maist  deid,  but 
a  keepit  ma  thumb  i'  the  mooth  o' 
the  jug,  an*  if  you'll  cam  to  me, 
Paddy,  and  pull  me  frae  the  cairt, 
a'm  thinkin'  anither  wee  soop  wod 
restore  me." 

"  Holy  saints!  "  answered  Pad- 
dy.     "ShtTe    the    top    of    the 
worrold's  upon  me,  and  the  divil 
is  pullin'  at  me  extremities;  if  the 
angels  of  hiven  can't  get  a  lever 
to  pry  me  out  of  his  clutches,  I'm 
afeared,  Robin,  man,  it's  'deid' 
you'll  be  for  want  of  a  drap  afore 
I'm  able  to  hilp  you."    There  was 
a  confused  sound  of  struggle  here, 
and  deep  groans  from  Paddy,  as 
194 


addy   Larrisey    I     A^o^h^o^^ 

old  Bess,  who  had  been  lying  atop 
of  the  Irishman,  scrambled  to  her 
feet,  and  released  from  the  cart, 
contentedly  commenced  to  graze! 
"  Shure  me  heart's  dishplaced 
and  me  bowels  is  crushed  by  the 
dirthy    baste,"    growled    Paddy. 
"  Robin,  man,  have  you  got  your 
thumb  in  the  nick  of  that  jimmie- 
john  yit?  for  be  gobs  it's  only  me 
mouth   around   that   same   nick 
that'll    convinche    me    that    me 
own's  sthill  on  me  shoulders." 

"  Ay,  Faddy,"  responded  Rob- 
in, "  but  I'll  no  tak  ma  thumb  oot 
ontil  'am  loosed  frae  the  cairt. 
Ma  heed's  a'tween  the  spokes  o' 
ane  wheel,  an'  ma  two  feet  are 
tangled  i'  the  ither.     It's  i'  the 
stocks  I  am,  like  the  covenanters 
o'  old,  but  a'm  thinkin'  nane  o' 
them  e'er  haud  a  jug  o'  whuskey 
at  his  thumb  aind.     It's  a  mercifu' 
195 


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Hi 

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Si: 

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Y'i ' 

Vl"      ii- 

; 

■■<       S'^ 

■ 

; 

1/ 

1 

1 

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Apotheosis  of  PaddvJ^msey 

deespensation  o'  Providence,  Pad- 
dy, and  as  the  Bible  says—" 

"  Shure  av  ye's  goin'  to  be  dish- 
putin*  religion  with  me,  it's  divil 
the  sthip  I'll  take  to  help  you  from 
your  commernantin'  position. 
It's  sthrange  to  me  ears  wat  your 
Bible  says,  out  I  know  full  well 
wat  Father  O'Brien  will  say  to  me 
for  this  night's  doin's." 

Robin  extricated  at  last,  the 
two  worthies  sat  them  down  in  the 
dewy  grass  amid  the  wreckage, 
and,  after  a  prolonged  gurgling 
observation  of  the  stars  through 
the  little  jug,  proceeded  to  make 
a  night  of  it.     The  mellowing  in- 
fluences of  the  common  misfor- 
tune and  that  of  the  httle  jug 
established  a  bond  of  amity  be- 
tween the  two,  which  soon  led  to 
mutual   confidences;  but  it  was 
Paddy    who    first    voiced    the 
196 


;  'i/ 


troubles  which  were  seemingly  as 
canker  at  his  heart. 

"  It's  tired  I  am  wrestlin'  with 
sthumps  and  advershity.  Whin 
hunger's  in  your  sthumack  and 
hate  at  your  heart  it  do  be  sore 
work     Faix,  and  its  lopsided  I'm 

f/r" '  ^°''""'  -■'h  workin'  o^ 
the  mountain-side,  and  me  two 
eyes  are  cruked  with  followin'  the 
^oad  m  the  dark.  Shure  the 
tongue  of  me  niver  lied  till  I  tuk 
to  chantm- the  praises  of  me  crops 

sTJe  rl"''..'"°'"^  ^'°"«'  ^y  the 
same  token. 

"  Hoots,  mon !  why  dinna  you 
cam  awa'  doun  intil  the  valley?  " 
sa.d  Robin,  who  now  saw  the 
chance  for  a  purchaser  of  his 
farm.  * 

"Kim  into  the  valley  is  it? " 
sn-ffed  Paddy.  "  Unless  there's 
an  earthquake  followed  by  a  land- 

'97 


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Apotheosis   of  Paddy   Larrisey 

slide,  or  I  kirn  into  me  esthates  in 
Oirland,  which  the  rightful  own- 
ers are  kapin'  me  out  of,  it's  only 
the  valley  I'll  see  from  me  castle 
on  the  mountain." 

"  Weel,  Paddy,"  responded 
Robin,  "  I'm  thinkin'  I  micht  sell 
the  fairm  gin  I  could  fin'  the  richt 
man,  an'  I  wud  gie  him  time  to 
pay  for  it." 

"  Troth,  if  toime  will  pay  for  the 
farm,  Robin  dear,  I'm  your  man, 
so  give  us  your  fhist,  and  we'll  call 
it  a  bargain,"  gleefully  answered 
Paddy. 

Robin  failed  to  see  the  covert 
qualification  in  Paddy's  ready 
willingness  to  take  the  farm,  and 
the  bargain  was  struck.  The  two 
men  soon  afterward  fell  asleep. 
Thus  it  came  to  pass  that  Paddy 
became  the  proprietor  of  Robin 
Maxwell's  valley  farm. 
198 


Robin's      roupin'      (auction) 
quickly  followed.     TLc  day  after 
the  roupin'  the  Larriseys  moved 
down  from  the  mountain.     Biddy 
drove  one  horse  before  a  rickety 
two-wheel  cart,  upon  which  was 
loaded  the  "childer,"  a  diminutive 
pig  in  a  crockery  crate,  and  a 
dozen  of  squakin'  fowl  tied  to- 
gether in  pairs  by  the  legs.    Biddy 
sat  on  the  brace-bar  of  the  shafts, 
bare-headed     and     bare-legged. 
Shoes    and    stockings    were    re- 
served in  those  days  for  church- 
going  on  Sundays,  and  then  they 
were  carried  under  arm  until  a 
close    approach    to    the    Lord's 
sanctuary  gave  warning  that  it 
was  time  to  put  them  on. 

Paddy      followed     Biddy     in 

charge  of  the  household  goods,  a 

load  as  light  as  the  owner's  heart 

this    eventful    day:    one    creaky 

199 


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Apofheosis   of  Paddy   i^arrisey 

wooden  chair  for  Biddy's  use,  or 
for  guest  service,  wheti  it  always 
received  a  hurried  wipe  from  the 
hem  of  Biddy's  petticoat,  a  great 
three-decker   oblong  box    stove 
to   stand  in   the   center  of  the 
one    living-room,    a    home-made 
rough  deal  table,  two  split  balsam 
benches,  the  family  chest,  three 
chipped    and    cracked    "  chiny " 
plates  and  as  many  cups,  a  large 
iron  teakettle  and  a  pot  for  boil- 
ing the  pig's  and  "  childer's  "  po- 
tatoes, several  patchwork  cover- 
lets, and   some  paliasscs,  to   be 
filled  later  with  straw  for  beds. 

Voung  Jack  trudged  behind, 
driving  the  cows  and  the  six 
months'  old  calf,  which  was  pos- 
sessed of  an  insane  desire  to  bolt 
into  every  bit  of  bush,  and  which 
kept  Master  Jack  actively  em- 
ployed 

aoo 


Mrs.  McAImo.i.  from  her  win- 
dow, watcher!  t!ie  Larriseys'  de- 
barkation ^'  n   a  divided   senti- 
ment;    pity     for     the     ragged 
neglected-Iooking   children,    and 
wrath  toward  the  shiftless  parents. 
Having  no  bairns  of  her  own,  she 
had    taken    those   of   the    entire 
neighborhood    under    her   wing 
and  in  time  they  came  to  know 
her  as  "  Mammy  McAImon."    As 
became  a  Scotch  housewife,  she 
was  orderly  and  thrifty,  with  little 
patience  or  sympathy  for  those 
endowed  with  less  of  these  quali- 
ties than  she  herself  possessed. 

When  Sandy  came  in  from  the 
chTpm'  tha.  .evening,  and  had 
scoured  himself  in  the  basin  on  the 
bench  outside  the  door,  Janet  met 
him  at  the  threshold  with  a  big 
jack-towel.  While  he  polished 
his  face  to  a  shining  finish,  Janet 


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>-ik.i^iMiQi£33S 


Apotheosis   of  Paddy   Larrisey 

opened  the  pent-up  floodgates  of 
her  disgust  with  the  new  neigh- 
bors. 

"Hoots,  Sandy!  but  you  be 
queer  fouk.  Aboot  an  hour  frae 
their  comin'  Biddy  came  ben,  and 
she  sat  her  doun,  and  I  fair  thpcht 
she'd  tak'  root.  I  heerd  some  o' 
the  bairns  greetin'  wi'  hunger,  an' 
I  speered  her  to  gang  awa'  to 
them,  but  she  just  said :  *  Shure, 
mum,  the  sand  forninst  the  dure 
do  be  fine  and  clean,  and  it's  much 
Hke  Indian  meal,  it  is.  The  chil- 
der,  God  bless  them!  will  soon 
have  a  foine  tasthe  for  it.  Is  it 
the  loan  of  a  drawin'  of  tay  you 
could  let  me  have,  Mrs.  McAl- 
mon?  * 

"  About  two  o'clock  I  pit  some 
scones  intil  ma  pocket,  an'  I  hied 
me  yon,  an'  Sandy,  mon,  ye'U  sair 
belie'  me  when  I  tell  you  what  I 

202 


Apotheosis   of  Paddy   Larrisey 

speered  thro'  the  winner.  Paddy 
and  Biddy  were  dancin'  an  Irish 
jig  to  Biddy's  liltin,'  an'  the  bairns 
were  haudin'  their  sides  wi'  lauch- 
in',  and  not  a  thing  touched  in  all 
a'  the  hoose. 

Top  of  the  day  to  you,  mum, 
said  Paddy;  '  shure  Biddy  and  I 
were  tistin'  the  flure  and  cheerin' 
the  childer  up  a  bit.  Jack,  you 
red-headed  omadhoun,  rin  down 
to  the  fince  and  bring  up  a  good 
dhry  pole  to  sthart  a  fire  with,  for 
it's  a  cup  of  tay  you'll  be  after 
havin'  with  us,  mum?  ' 

"  '  Mony  thanks,'  said  I,  '  but 
when  I  come  to  tak'  tea  wi'  you, 
Maister  Larrisey,  I'll  sen'  you 
word  I'm  comin'.' 

"  *  Shure  you'll  be  heartily  wil- 
cum,  mum,  to  the  best  we  have  in 
the  house.' " 

Sandy,     sparing     of     words, 
203 


Apotheosis   of  Paddy  Larrisey 

groaned  an  acknowledgment  of 
all  that  his  wife  had  said,  and  went 
in  to  his  supper. 

Paddy  soon  became  a  thorn  in 
the  side  of  thrifty  neighbors,  but 
his  unfailing  Irish  wit,  unvarying 
good     humor,     and     wonderful 
power   of   mimicry,    pulled    him 
through  many  a  scrape  with  a  cer- 
tain aplomb.     The  borrowing  ca- 
pacity of  the  whole  family  had  no 
apparent  limit;  it  certainly  pos- 
sessed no  modesty.     There  was 
nothing  they  hesitated  to  ask  for, 
and  nothing  was  ever  returned 
until  sent  for,  and  not  always  then. 
Paddy's    fences    were    soon    de- 
spoiled for  firewood,  and  his  horse 
and   cow   roamed   at   will.     Old 
hats  and  wisps  of  straw  replaced 
the  glasses  that  were  broken  by 
the  youngsters,  and  the  barn  door 
hung  idly  on  one  hinge.     Paddy 
204 


worked  in  a  desultory  way,  but  his 
luck,  as  he  termed  it,  was  always 
"agin"    him.      His    neighbors, 
however,  in  discussing  him,  which 
was  often,  told  a  different  tale, 
with  many  nidignant  or  laughing 
comments,  as  they  happened  to 
view  the  particular  case  in  point. 
In  the  early  winter  of  that  year 
the  smallpox  raged  with  great  vio- 
lence in  the  French  parishes  to  the 
south  of  ours.     We  quarantined 
against  them  with  commendable 
rigor,    and    a    passing    French- 
Canadian  received  scant  courtesy 
at  our  hands.     Even  the  Indians 
from  camps  far  among  the  moun- 
tains were  invited  to  move  on, 
while  the  dogs  made  noisy  clamor 
at  their  heels.     It  was  no  time  for 
ceremony  or  discrimination. 

The  night  of  the  commence- 
ment   of   the   great   snowstorm, 
205 


Apotheosis   of  Paddy   Larrisey 

which  is  even  now  remembered 
because  it  blocked  our  roads  for 
weeks  and  cut  off  all  communica- 
tion throughout  the  parish,  ex- 
cepting by  the  use  of  snowshoes, 
there  came  a  knock  at  Anderson's 
door.     Anderson  answered  it  in 
person,  and  there  stood  little  Joe 
Barras,  looking  like  a  snow-man, 
so  covered  was  he. 

"You  giv  me  place  for  stay; 
ver'  bad  night,  no  can  see  road?  " 
"Not  in  the  house,  Joe;  we 
don't    want    no    smallpox    here. 
Find  a  place  in  the  straw  in  the 
barn;  and,  Joe,  there  is  an  old 
buffalo-robe  on  the  battery  floor 
to  throw  over  you  "—and  Ander- 
son closed  the  door  on  the  storm 
and  his  unwelcome  guest. 

In  the  morning,  when  Ander- 
son dug  himself  into  the  bam, 
Joe's  snowshoe  track  led  out  of  it.' 
ao6 


The  children  played  there  that 
day.  One  of  them  hid  unuer  the 
buflfalo-robe  that  little  Joe  had 
used.  Smallpox  broke  out  in  the 
house  within  a  week,  and  ere 
many  days  threatened  the  extinc- 
tion of  the  entire  family. 

No  one  ventured  into  the  in- 
fected house.     The  stricken  ones, 
including  the  mother,  were  de- 
pendent   upon    the    half-crazed 
father  for  all  the  care  they  re- 
ceived.    Two  of  the  children  died 
and  it  was  the  father  who  was 
compelled  to  perform  all  the  sad 
rites  for  the  dead.     Our  hearts 
ached  for  him  as  we  saw  him  pass 
with  the  two  little  rough  deal  cof- 
fins on  the  wood  sleigh  to  the 
silent  burial;  but  fear  steeled  m 
against  exposing  ourselves  to  the 
loathsome    disease.      We    pitied 
without    the   tender   of  service. 
207 


in 


li 


b. 


f : 


i  1 


Apotheosis  of  Paddy    Larrisey 

When  Anderson  from  his  door 
next  day  hailed  a  passing  neigh- 
bor to  say  that  he,  too,  was  ill,  we 
were    paralyzed.      Even    Paddy 
Larrisey  grew  thoughtful,  and  for 
the  nonce  forgot  his  song  and 
joke.     In  the  evening  he  sat  long 
with  his  elbows  on  his  knees  and 
his  face  buried  in  his  hands,  while 
Biddy  moved  about  uneasily,  but 
speechlessly,  in  an  ecstasy  of  un- 
known fear.     Paddy  finally  rose, 
and,  without  a  word,  put  on  his 
coat  and  hat. 

"  Where  do  ye  be  a-goin'  the 
night,  Paddy  dear?"  anxiously 
inquired  Biddy,  who  now  found 
voice. 

"  To  hivin,  perhaps,"  tersely  re- 
plied Paddy;  "  but  do  you  take 
care  of  the  childer,  Biddy,  and 
God  bless  yis  all."  And  Paddy 
disappeared  into  the  night. 
208 


ddy    Larrisey      I      Apotheosis    of  Paddy   Larrisey 


Tom  his  door 
passing  neigh- 
too,  was  ill,  we 
Even    Paddy 
ghtful,  and  for 
his  song  and 
tig  he  sat  long 
his  knees  and 
s  hands,  while 
:  uneasily,  but 
ecstasy  of  un- 
Y  finally  rose, 
d,  put  on  his 

e  a-goin*  the 
?"  anxiously 
0  now  found 

s,"  tersely  re- 
do you  take 
Biddy,  and 
And  Paddy 
night. 


"  Oh,  Paddy !  "  wailed  his  wife 
after  him,  "come  back,  come 
back !  "  But  there  was  no  reply. 
As  she  stood  straining  her  eyes 
into  the  darkness,  there  was  a  sud- 
den stream  of  light  from  the  An- 
derson house,  and  all  was  dark 
again.  Her  worst  fears  for  Pad- 
dy were  confirmed,  and  she 
uttered  a  loud  cry  of  terror,  which 
the  "childer"  in  the  house  re- 
echoed. 

Paddy's  greeting  to  Anderson 
was  a  simple  "  Shure  me  heart's 
bled  for  you,  man,  and  I've  kim  to 
help  a  while;  so  into  bed  with  you, 
and  I'll  take  a  luk  around." 

The  state  of  things  was  about  as 
appalling  as  the  nature  of  the  dis- 
ease, but  Paddy,  ere  the  night  had 
passed,  in  his  rude  way  had  re- 
stored some  order,  and  the  house 
became  filled  with  the  sunshine  of 
209 


mn 


Apotheosis   of  Paddy   Larrisey 

• 

his  presence.     In  the  days  and 
weeks  which  followed,  he  labored 
incessantly,  and  with  a  devoted- 
ness  and  gentleness  that  endeared 
him  to  each  suffering  member  of 
the  household.  In  the  long  nights 
of  restlessness   among  the  chil- 
dren, he  quieted  them  with  won- 
derful tales  of  the  good  fairies. 
To  the  parents  he  was  a  minister- 
ing angel  of  hope.     If  he  slept  at 
all  it  must  have  been  with  wide- 
open  eyes  and  sitting  bolt  upright 
in  a  chair,  for  he  was  ever  ready 
upon  the  slightest  call.     He  gave 
little  thought  to  himself.      Daily 
he  appeared  upon  the  little  hill 
and  shouted  words  of  encourage- 
ment to  Biddy,  with  many  mes- 
sages for  the  "  childer." 

There  came  a  day  at  last  when 
Biddy,  rushing  breathlessly  into 
our  house,  said : 

2IO 


'>isj|^i;i 


Apotheosis   of  Paddy   Larrisey 

"  Faix,  there  do  be  a  hilth  doc- 
tor out  at  Anderson's,  and  Paddy 
says  he's  dishinfestin'  the  house, 
and     Paddy's     kimmin'     home,' 
though  the  doctor  do  be  tillin' 
him  that  he  must  burn  all  the 
clothes  that  do  be  on  his  back 
before  he  kin  lave.      Troth,  if  he 
do,  it's  the  quare  soight  he'll  be 
rinnin'  thro'  the  snow  with  only 
God's  lither  on  him,  for  divil's  the 
ha'porth  ilse  he'll  have,  for  Jack, 
bad  luck  to  that  bhoy,  cut  oflp  the 
legs  of  Paddy's  Sunday  pants." 

After  much  search  we  finally 
overcame  this  difficulty  in  the  way 
of  Paddy's  home-coming.  It  was 
worth  while  to  see  him  strutting 
homeward,  quite  unconscious  of 
his  heroism,  but  full  of  the  impor- 
tance of  a  pair  of  black  pants,  a 
long-tailed  coat,  and  an  ancient 
clerical    beaver,    with    a    three 


211 


Ijli 


In 


*'  B' 


weeks  growth  of  scrubby  beard 
beneath  ,t.  When  we  cheered 
him  as  he  passed,  he  took  it  en- 
"■•ely   as   a   compliment   to   his 

f!!f  ,,Tf'^"'^'  ^"'^  gracefully 
touched  h,s  hat  in  acknowledg- 
ment, giving  it  a  rakish  tilt  as  he 
replaced  it. 

_  Moriarty,  before  the  mass  on 
the  following  Sunday,  shouted 
out  w  the  impulsive  Irish  way: 

Now,  byes,  since  Paddy's  alive 
tod,emh,sow„bid,ifsasind-off 

wellbeaftergivin-him,andivery 
man  of  ye's'll  bring  wan  thing  or 
the  other  to  hilp  him  through  the 
wmter."  ^ 

And  they  all  replied,  "  Amin !  " 

At   the  kirk   door  McAlmon 

vcced  the  sentiment  of  the  as 

fembled    elders   when    he   said; 

1  m  no  sayin'  that  Paddy  does- 

na  fash  me  at  times,  but  his  heart, 

212 


^^S  I  ^^S'k^^t:^ 


scrubby  beard 
-n   we   cheered 

he  took  it  en- 
>Iiment  to  his 
and  gracefully 
1  acknowledg- 
akish  tilt  as  he 

the  mass  on 
'<^ay,  shouted 
*^e  Irish  way: 
Paddy's  alive 

it's  a  sind-off 
lim,  and  ivery 
wan  thing  or 

through  the 

J,  "  Amin !  " 
f  McAlmon 
t  of  the  as- 
n  he  said  : 
Paddy  does- 
ut  his  heart, 


ye  ken,  is  i' the  richt  place,  an' it's 
a  braw  act,  an'  I  forgie  him  the 
past. 

\yhat  Anderson  and  his  wife 
smd  Paddy  never  revealed,  but  the 
greatest  thrashing  that  Phil  Mul- 
doon  ever  received  was  at  Ander- 
son s  hands,  for  some  disparaging 
remark  he  made  about  Paddy 


213 


si  V 
II 

llii 


The  Story  of  Locksley 


i^ 


M 


ll. 


I 


k, 


t 
s 
a 
h 
J 
tl 

m 
oi 
sii 
se 
th 
ua 
an 
rei 
ful 


m 


The  Story  of  Locksley 

T  OCKSLEY  came  from  the 
-■— '  state  of  Maine,  so  he  said, 
but  beyond  this  item  of  news  per- 
sonal to  himself,  no  one  knew 
aught  of  his  history  previous  to 
his  appearance  in  our  parish. 
Thereafter  his  doings  were  upon 
the  tongues  of  many. 

He  was  possessed  of  a  grim  hu- 
mor, was  Locksley,  and  one  phase 
of  it  was  to  lend  the  idea  to  the 
simple-minded  and  superstitious 
settlers  that  he  was  in  league  with 
the  devil.     They  accepted  the  sit- 
uation with  unquestioning  belief, 
and  treated  Locksley  with  that 
respect  due  to  so  exalted,  if  doubt- 
ful, a  connection. 
ai7 


The  Story  of  Locksley 


Summer  and  winter  he  wore  a 
mink-skin  cap,  the  head  of  the 
mink  stuffed  and  looking  up  at  a 
hen  partridge  just  ready  for  flight 
which    surmounted    the    crown. 
This    was    certainly    picturesque 
and  odd,  not  to  say  weird.      He 
never  wore  a  coat,  but  instead  a 
heavy  gray  homespun  wool  shirt, 
worn  outside  his  pants  and  belted 
around  his  waist  with  a  twisted 
rope;  in  this  belt  he  carried  an  ax. 
Caribou-skin  leggings  with  the 
hair  and  soft  moccasins  completed 
an  attire  that  would  have  caused 
ridicule,  even  in  our  unconven- 
tional   parish,    but    for    reasons 
which  I  have  given. 

Locksley  owned  two  mongrel 
dogs  of  forbidding  appearance. 
One  he  called  Night,  the  other 
Day.  They  were  his  inseparable 
companions,  as  was  a  long  single- 
ai8 


"e  had  a  cabin  somewhere  in  the 
~ams    but  he  was  re  «ess 
«ov,ng  about   the  parish  £ 
house  to  house.     No  one  refused 

accessories    rather   than    openlv 
quarrel  wi.h  them.      WhS 

and  ht    T*"  "^  °f  the  house 

^-steitr^^rhrs 

spnnkle  holy  water  about  t£ 
room  The  children  then  came 
out  of  hiding.  * 

This  much,  and  some  more  I 
knew  of  Lock<!ey.     The  fol  ow- 

afee"rT^,''"^ir'^'^«"^tohis 
career  I  learned  from  little  Spruce 
Gum    (alias   for   Prospere    d',! 

tig 


I   !• 


\A   > 


\w 


1 1' 


m 
ft 


The  Story  of  Locksley 

mont)  and  Phil  McGinnis,  while 
hunting  caribou  lately  with  those 
two  worthies  in  the  Laurentides. 

Snow  had  fallen  steadily  all  day, 
the  snowshoeing  was  bad,  and  as 
the  afternoon  drew  to  a  close  I 
had  settled  into  a  stolid  yearning 
for  the  flesh-pots  and  comfort  of 
camp.  When  we  stepped  sud- 
denly out  of  a  balsam  thicket  into 
a  small  clearing  with  a  disused  log 
cabin  in  the  center,  I  shouted: 
"  Hurrah,  boys !  We're  in  luck. 
We'll  camp  here  for  the  night." 

Not  a  word  in  response,  and  as 
I  turned  to  seek  an  explanation,  I 
saw  little  Spruce  devoutly  cross- 
ing himself  and  big  Phil  was  evi- 
dently mumbling  a  prayer.  Both 
looked  terrified. 

"  What  the  devil  is  the  matter 
with  you  two — seen  a  ghost?  " 

"  Sacre;  no  see  ghos',  but  ghos' 


220 


The  Story  of  Locksley 


'ere  all  de  sam'.     Debbil  'ere  too 
ver'  mooch,"  said  little  Spruce. 

"  Faith/it's  no  lie  Spruce  do  be 
after  tellin'  your  honor.  This  is 
Locksley's  camp,  and  not  in  it 
we'll  stop  the  night.  We'll  be 
movin'  on.  It's  the  mouth  of  hell 
is  this  camp,  and  it's  a  foine 
woman,  God  hilp  her  soul,  who 
was  lid  into  it,"  added  big  Phil. 

A  gust  of  wind,  let  free  by  the 
opening,  swept  the  snow  like  a 
wraith  around  the  cabins  into  the 
open  door,  and  there  was  moaning 
and  creaking  within.  My  two 
worthies  turned  tail  and  fled  into 
the  bush.  I  followed  on  their  trail 
for  some  time  before  the  sharp 
click  of  an  ax  and  the  voice  of  little 
Spruce  singing : 

"  The  caribou  are  white  in  face, 
This  is  the  season  for  the  chase, 
The  snow  is  deep,  the  cold  it  bites !  " 

221 


The  Story  of  Locksley 


r 

il 

if  ' 

I*  J    V 

J  i 

'  1 

i 

't 


\\L 


told  me  the  men  were  camping. 
Later,  when  we  had  settled  down 
before  our  fire  in  that  blissful  state 
that  follows  good  digestion,  with 
the  companion  pipe,  I  turned  to 
Phil,  who  was  busy  repairing  the 
lacing  of  his  snowshoe,  and  asked 
him  if  he  had  known  Locksley. 

Phil  stopped  his  work,  looked 
at  me  in  a  surprised  and  injured 
way,  and  said  : 

"Wall,  wall;  and  is  it  know 
Locksley  your  honor  asks?  Faith, 
me  introducshun  to  him  was  most 
quare  intirely.     One  of  me  calves, 
bad  ^cess  to  it,  had  bruk  out  and 
sthrayed   away   back   into   Mul- 
doon's  bush.    It  was  comin'  home 
I  was  after  lukin'  for  it,  and  I  was 
sthumblin^  down  along  the  trail  in 
the  dark,  whin  I  hears  some  one 
shoutin',   'Now,   Night,  to  hell 
with  you  if  you  don't  keep  the 
32a 


^^g  Story^fLoHcd^ 

trail/     ^  Locksley/  says  I  to  me- 

silf,andlsthipsbehintabigblack 
birch.  Just  as  he  came  fominst 
me  his  feet  caught  in  a  root,  and 
down  he  wint,  and  a  bag  of  pera- 
ties  he  was  shoulderin'  slipt  out  of 
his  hoult,  and  as  the  nick  of  the 
bag  was  untied,  the  peraties  wint 
rowlin'  down  the  mountain. 

"'May  the  divil  curse  Mul- 
doon,'  says  Locksley,  '  and  may 
the  divil  curse  all  those  who  won't 
get  up  at  twelve  o'clock  at  night 
to  curse  Muldoon.      And  if  that 
blackguard,  Phil  McGinnis,  don't 
kim  out  from  behint  that  tree  to 
blip  me  gather  those  peraties,  I'll 
put  me  blight  upon  him,  too' 
says  Locksley. 

Wall,  wall;  is  that  you,  Mr 
Locksley? '  says  I,  kind  of  brave 
like,  but  it's  thrimblin'  I  was  with 
the  fear  that  was  on  me. 
223 


Ill 


The  Story  of  Locksley 


Just  mesilf  and  his  majesty, 
McGinnis;  and  you'll  do  well  to 
luk  alive,  man,  for  I'm  in  a  hurry,' 
says  Locksley. 

"  Faith,  I  naded  no  urgin',  and 
with  a  light  from  a  rov  1  of  hirch- 
bark  I  rattled  all  the  peraties  I 
could  find  into  the  bag. 

We'll  know  each  other  bet- 
ter nixt  time  we  meet,'  says 
Locksley,  as  he  shouldered  the 
bag  and  walked  off  into  the  dark 
after  the  dog. 

"  '  Be  gobs ! '  thought  I,  *  and 
may  that  be  a  long  time  away.' 
Sure  it  tuk  two  good  glasses  of 
Judy's    skalkeen    to    bring    me 
around  whin  I  got  home.     Ugh ! 
it  was  aisier  fur  him  to  play  with 
fire  than  for  me  to  light  me  pipe 
with  this  coal,"  said  Phil,  as  he 
deftly  picked  out  a  small  live  coal 
from    the    fire,    and    keeping   it 
224 


Locksley 

d  his  majesty, 
I'll  do  well  to 
m  in  a  hurry/ 

lo  urgin',  and 
rov  1  of  hirch- 
he  peraties  I 
bag. 

ch  other  bet- 
meet,'    says 
ouldered  the 
nto  the  dark 

ight  I,  'and 
time  away/ 
d  glasses  of 
bring    me 
)me.     Ugh ! 
to  play  with 
?ht  me  pipe 
Phil,  as  he 
lall  live  coal 
keeping   it 


JlllLStoryof^Locksley 


quickly  moving  about  in  the  palm 
of  his  hand,  transferred  it  to  his 
pipe    (puff-puflF).      "Wasn't    it 
you,  little  Spruce,  wint  clane  mad 
at^the  sight  av  him  wan  night?" 
"  Tonnerre  de  Dieu !  I  'av  not 
mooch  wat  you  call  sens'  lef  dat 
nit  for  sure.     Dat  was  ver'  bad 
scare  I'm  'av.     I  go  for  a  week  to 
mak'  de  spruce  gum  at  Lac  Ste 
Cecile,  an'  for  mak'  some  fishin' 
Ver'  good,  but  when  I'm  clos'  to 
Lac  I  remembre  dat  I  leav'  'ome 
widout  kees  ma  Rosalie.     '  Dat's 
bad  luck,'  I  say,  an'  I  turn  for  go 
ome.     Late  on  de  night  tam,  I 
arrive  on  de  place  we  see  to-day. 
Dere  was  beeg  fires  for  burn  de 
logs  an'  stumps.    Locksley,  naked 
lak'  he  bom,  was  run  roun'  wid 
beeg  hanspik'  for  move  de  logs 
He   say,    'Com',    debbil,    giv'    a 
hand;  now,  debbil,  help;  poosh, 

225 


n  . 


The  Story  of  Locksley 


debbil,  poosh,'  an'  de  log  jump 

roun'  on  de  pile  lak'  she'm  live. 

Ma  hair  stan'  on  en*  Vm  so  scare, 

but  I  say  planty  prayer.     Bime- 

by  a  log  roll  on  hes  toes.     He 

dance  'bout  an'  'av  gran'  fight  wid 

de  debbil  an'  call  him  ver'  bad 

name,  an'  he  wante  on  hes  cabane 

an'  slam  de  door.     Den  I  nevare 

stop  de  run  ontil  I'm  hide  onder 

de  bed-clothes  wid  ma  Rosalie." 

"But   who   was   the   woman, 

Phil,  who  came  under  Locksley's 

spell,  and  how  did  it  happen?  "  I 

asked. 

"  Howly  Saints !  And  did  your 
honor  niver  hear  till  of  that? 
Wall,  wall !  You  must  remimber 
Murtha  who  was  kilt  by  a  tree 
fallin'  on  him  in  the  choppin'. 
Sure,  the  widdy  tuk  on  foine  at  the 
wake  with  her  scramin'  an  lamint- 
in'  her  dear  Mike.  A  tidy  bit  of  a 
2a6 


The  Story  of  Locksley 


cratur  was  Norah,  and  as  indipin- 
dent  'n  her  ways  as  a  led  pig,  with 
a  fine  timper  av  her  own.  There 
was  no  childer, — incumbrances  I 
think  they  call  them  whin  they  be- 
long to  a  widdy-man  or  a  widdy- 
woman, — but  mighty  handy  at 
other  times,  eh.  Spruce?  '' 

Spruce  grinned  assent.  He  was 
the  proud  father  of  fourteen. 

"Sure,  it  wasn't  long  after 
Murtha's  dith  before  siveral  of  the 
byes  were  dancin'  attindance 
about  the  widdy.  Tim  Deehey  it 
was  who  seemed  to  have  the  inside 
thrack,  and  it's  him  who  towld  me 
the  story  this  way : 

"  *  I  was  on  me  way  one  night 
to  coort  the  widdy  Murtha,  but 
whin  I  kim  near  her  house  I  saw 
the  doore  was  closed,  and  there 
was  no  pig's  kittle  bilin'  foorninst 
it.  "Sure,  the  widdy's  gone  to 
227 


li  ^ 


If! 


The  Story  of  Lnrlr.t.y 

kaijey  at  LeGendre's  for  the  even- 
in  ,  think  I  to  mesilf,  "  but  I'll 
take  a  pake  in  the  windy  to  be 

T'ff/  Glory  be  to  God.  Phil  I 
>f  I  didn't  see  that  thafe  of  the 
worrold,  Locksley,  sittin'  close 
alongside  of  Norah  on  a  binch, 
and  th,m  as  thick  as  two  thaves, 
while  he  was  puttin'  his  spell  on 
lier,  as  I  could  hear. 

"'"But  it's  a  bad  name  you 
^T.  '!^Jt  Parish,"  says  Norah 

,  ^''edivil  is  never  as  black 
as  hes  painted.     Ah,  ha!  haw 

haw  'laughed  Locksley.  "Sure 
«>eyre  mostly  simples  here, 
Norah,  and  I  thwist  thim  'round 
We  finger. 

^J","^^'  y^  •="""'"'  sarpint," 

thmks  I,  "and  it's  swate  Norah 
you'd  be  thwistin'  'round  your 
finger,  but  I'll  prfvint  you  " 

i^ut,  Locksley,  it^s  not  true 
228 


if 


i 


you're  in  lague  with  the  divil?" 
says  Norah. 

'""  It's  clane  out  of  me  mind 
i  am  to  be  in  lague  with  the  hand- 
somest woman  in  the  parish,"  says 
Lockslev.  ^ 

"_ ' "  You're  a  distrestful  timp- 
ter,    says  Norah,  "  and  I  suppose 
1   must   g-ive   me   '  vpc  '   f^ 
pladin'."  ^""     '°   ^^' 

"'"Faith,  Norah,  dear,  there's 
nothm  so  hard  to  resist  as  timp- 
tation,  and  since  you've  yailded 
to  Its  seductive  ways  I'll  do  the 
same  mesilf  by  takin'  a  kiss  off 
those   swate  lips  of  your,   that 
would  tempt  the  owld  boy  him- 
self," says  Locksley. 

"'The  blackguard  kissed  her, 
^hi\,  and  it's  truth  Tm  tillin'  ye  I 
saw  the  sparks  fly. 

"  '  "  We'll  lave  this  cruel  cowld 
land  behind  us,"  says  Locksley, 
229 


M     I 


i  f 


II', 


The  Story  of  Locksley 


"but  we'll  lave  no  trace  of  our 
whereabouts.  IVe  communicated 
with  the  owld  one  and  it's  a  warm 
wilcome  he  says  he  has  for  us." 

"*  Saints  of  Hiven!    But  the 

spell  must  have  bin'  strong  on 

Norah,  for  she  laughed  at  this 

t   spache  of  Locksley's,  and   says 

she :      "  Indade,  Locksley,  it's  a 

roastin'   I'm   thinkin'   you'll   git 

whin  the  owld  fellow  sees  what 

you've  brought  back." 

"  '  "  We'll  lave  here  at  onct," 
says  Locksley. 

"'"I'm  with  you,"  says 
Norah;  "  but  you'll  be  off  now, 
Locksley,  for  I've  some  matters 
to  attind  to." 

Faith,  and  so  have  I,"  says 
I  to  mesilf,  and  I  put  off  for  Father 
O'Brien's  to  get  his  riverence  to 
come  at  onct  to  take  the  spell  off 
Norah.      He  was  in  bed  whin  I 

330 


iifi  jijii 


The  Story  of  Locksley 


got  there,  and  not  too  well  plased 
at  me  visit  at  that  hour  av  the 
night. 

You'll  kim  now,  your  riv- 
erence,  and  the  halo  of  a  grate 
dade  will  be  around  your  head." 

"  *  "  Go  home,  you  fool,"  says 
he.  "  Sure  it's  bilious  you  are, 
with  your  halos  and  other  non- 
since.  I'll  look  you  up  in  the 
mornin'  whin  you've  kem  to  your 
sinses." 

About  tin  in  the  mornin'  his 
riverence  arrived,  and  after  a  cup 
of  tay  we  started  for  the  widdy's. 
Phil,  she  was  gone !  As  soon  as 
we  could  git  a  party  of  the  boys 
togither,  we  tuk  the  thrail  for 
Locksley's  camp.  The  doore  of 
his  cabin  was  open,  but  there  was 
no  one  there.  In  the  cinter  of  the 
flure  a  great  hole  was  torn  up,  and 


/^:' 


aji 


i  I 


1 


The  Story  of  Locksley 


some  of  the  boys  said  there  was  a 
strong  smell  of  sulphur  about. 

"  '  "  Lit  this  be  a  lisson  to  yes 
all  to  have  no  intercourse  with 
avil,"     says     Father     O'Brien. 
"Poor    Norah    Murtha!      We'll 
lave  this  scene  now,  and  you'll 
mind  what  I'm  after  tillin'  yes." ' 
"Little  Spruce,  pitch  some  logs 
on  the  fire.     The  insides  of  his 
honor   are    thrimblin'    with    the 
cowld,  as  I  can  see,"  said  Big  Phil 


333 


Locksley 


id  there  was  a 
►hur  about. 
L  lisson  to  yes 
srcourse  with 
er     O'Brien, 
rtha !     We'll 
V,  and  you'll 
"  tillin'  yes." ' 
ch  some  logs 
isides  of  his 
n'    with    the 
iaid  Big  Phil. 


The  Romance  of  Ruther- 
ford's  FJat 


m 


The  Romance  of  Ruther- 
ford's Flat 

pAPTAIN    HALFORD,    of 
^^  her  Majesty's  3— th  Regi- 
ment of  Foot,  stationed  at  Que- 
bec in  18—,  came  to  our  parish 
by  chance,  and  remained  through 
an  accident.     He  always  main- 
tamed  that  it  was  the  luckiest 
thmg  that  ever  happened  him, 
and  surely  a  man  should  be  the 
best  judge  for  himself  in  such  mat- 
ters.    Some  of  his  brother  officers 
at  the  time  shook  their  heads  and 
doubted,  but  we  always  doubt  the 
wisdom  of  our  friends  in  affairs  of 
the  heart,  just  as  we  fail  to  accept 
iheir  advice  when  it  comes  to  our 
turn    to    be   afflicted   with    that 
ancient  malady — love. 
235 


'1:1 


/i 


■  I- 

'  {I 


i  i- 


Ef    ?Ml 


Romance  of  Rutherford's  Flat 

It  happened  in  this  wise :     Dul- 
kin,  who  lived  behind  the  Monk's 
mountain  in  our  parish,  was  a  fre- 
quent caller  at  the  Officers'  Quar- 
ters in  Quebec,  where  he  sold  such 
produce  as  his  farm  yielded,  and 
fairly  beg^ged  the  clothes  oflf  the 
backs  of  the  occupants  with  a 
charming  abandon   of  modesty, 
but  there  was  nothing  he  refused! 
In  time  he  became  a  regular  pen- 
sioner upon  their  bounty—an  es- 
tablished   institution,    which    a 
ready  tongue  and  unbounded  im- 
pudence helped  him  to  maintain. 
He  was  returning  home  one 
lovely  June  morning,  by  the  road 
which  follows  the  sinuous  wind- 
ings  of  the   St.    Charles   River. 
The  world  was  bright  and  joyous 
this  sunny  morning,  and  the  old 
fellow    was    piping    away    in    a 
cracked  falsetto : 
336 


^erford's  Flat 


Romance  of  Rutherford's  Flat 

"  In  the  year  '98,  when  our  troubles  was 
great, 

And  'twas  treason  to  be  a  Milesian," 

when  he  came  to  the  ford  at  the 
mil!  and  stopped  to  give  his  horse 
a  drink.  A  voice  from  up  the 
bank  called  out : 

"Hello!  Dulkin.  What  are 
you  doing  here?" 

Dulkin  ended  his  song  and 
turning  in  the  direction  from 
which  the  voice  proceeded,  while 
a  grin  overspread  his  parchment 
face,  he  replied : 

"  Shure,  thin,  it's  your  honor. 
Captain  Halford,  an'  is  it  lukin'  for 
goold  in  the  river  yez  are,  or 
maybe  your  coortin',  an'  faith  it's 
a  purty  spot?  " 

"  Either     occupation      would 
probably  be  more  profitable  than 
the  one  I'm  engaged  in,"  laugh- 
ingly replied  Captain  Halford. 
237 


Romance  of  Rutherford's  Flat 

"  Well,  it's  writin'  poethry  yez 
are,  but  that's  a  whaste  av  toime  in 
in  this  divil's  counthry  where  they 
spake  only  Frinch  an'  niver 
heerd  *  Gillie  Machree  '  or  *  Rorv 
O'More.' " 

"Wrong  again,  Dulkin;  I'm 
trying  the  fishing,  but  luck  seems 
to  be  against  me." 

"Fishin',    is    it?      Faix,    yez 
moight  as  well  luk  for  smoked  her- 
rin's  as  be  thryin'  for  throuts  in 
the  St.  Charles.     Kim  away,  man, 
wid  me  an'  I'll  show  yez  a  river 
where  the  throuts  do  be  more 
plentiful  than  the  laves  on  the 
trees,  and  longer  than  your  arm." 
Perhaps  it  was  fate  which  de- 
cided Halford  to  accept  Dulkin's 
offer.    At  all  events  his  kit  was 
transferred  from  the  cottage  near 
by  to  Dulkin's  cart,  and  Halford 
mounted  to  a  seat  beside  its  driver. 
938 


"It's  at  Rutherford's   I'll   be 
lavin'  your  honor." 

"And    who    may    Rutherford 
be?    inquired  Halford. 

Rutherford,  an  Irish  gentleman  if 

r'p,  ''  T  ^""'  ^"'  h^  owns 
thel^Iat.  Tipperary  niver  turned 
out  a  fomer  man,  barrin'  his  tim- 
Per,  which  is  short  whin  an  Eng- 
Jsh  mvader  kims  along  to  make 
uv  to  Judy.  So  kape  a  civil  dish- 
tance,  me  brave  captain. 

"'Och  hone!  and  what  will  I  do? 
i>ure,  my  love  is  all  crost, 
Like  a  bud  in  a  frost, 

*  trbed"°  "''  "'  '"  ^"  "'^  «°'"8 
For  'tis  dhrames  and  not  sleep  that 
comes  into  my  head.' 

"  Shure,  the  luv  for  a  woman  do 

play  quare  thricks  on  min,"  con- 

tmued    Dulkin.     "I    should    be 

rowlin'  in  wilth  and  me  coach  to- 

239 


#1^ 


1   k 


IfH 


Romance  of  Rutherford's  Flaf 

day  if  the  soight  of  a  pair  av  bare 
hgs  at  a  dance  hadn't  lid  me  cap- 
tive to  the  owner  of  thim,  an'  I 
married  her  and  thim  the  very  nixt 
week.     Me   father,   pace   to   his 
memory  now,  drove  me  out  av  me 
ancistral  home  for  me  folly  as  he 
termed  it.     It's  bare-ligged  we've 
gone  mostly  since,  by  the  same 
token,  to  make  two  inds  mate, 
though  it  do  be  little  av  any  mate 
we'll  see  on  the  mountain  nixt 
winter,  for  the  divil  av  a  baliflf  kim 
out  a  while  back  and  seized  all  me 
cattle  for  the  payment  of  a  note  I 
gave  to  Maxwell  for  a  bidsted  and 
some  other  thrifles  I  bought  at  his 
sale." 

Halford  smiled  a  little  cynically 
at  Dulkin's  picture  of  distress,  but 
made  no  rejoinder,  for  at  this  mo- 
ment a  turn  in  the  road  on  the 
mountain-side  disclosed  a  pan- 
240 


erford's  Flat       |       R2m?nce_o£^iuherfbrd;s  Flat 

orama  of  such  singular  charm  and 
beauty  as  to  completely  engage 
h.s  attention.     In  all  our  province 
here  ,s  no  more  lovely  spot  than 
"lat  known  in  our  parish  as  the 
i-lat.     The  nver  almost  encircled 
>t,  with  a  great  dark  pool  at  the 
head  and  a  still  larger  one  at  the 
foot,  with  a  roaring  rapid  between, 
and  a  continuous  rapid  above  and 
below.    Mountains  completely  in- 
closed   it,    mountains    clad    in 
maples  and  birches  on  the  lower 
side,  and  somber  spruces  to  their 
very   tops.     It  was  peak   upon 
peak  as  far  as  the  eye  reached.    A 
high  pointed-roofed  house,  white- 
washed and  red-gabled,  peeped 
out  from  a  grove  of  aspens  and 
white  birches,  while  the  Flat  lay 
before  it,  carpeted  in  many  shades 
of  soft  greens  and  bordered  by  the 


241 


«t  F 


Romance  of  Rutheijbi^^ 

wild  cherry  and  poire  in  masses  of 

white  blossoms. 

Halford  drew  a  long  breath  of 
satisfaction.  Truly  this  seemed 
the  promised  land  of  lotus-eating 
— and  angling. 

Dulkin's  salutation  to  Ruther- 
ford, as  he  drove  up  to  the  door, 
was :  "  I've  captured  wan  av  the 
mimy  widout  his  uniform,  an'  it's 
shpyin'  out  the  land  he  is,  though 
he  do  say  it's  fishin'  he  wants. 
His  name  is  Captain  Halford." 

Both  Rutherford  and  Halford 
smiled  at  the  introduction,  and 
the  latter  said  : 

"Dulkin's  partly  right,  Mr. 
Rutherford.  I  would  like  to  sur- 
render myself  into  your  hands  for 
a  few  days,  if  you  are  willing  to 
harbor  a  spy  into  your  fishing 
haunts."  ^ 

"  It's  not  much  you  ask,"  re- 
242 


ttherford's  Flat 
nre  in  masses  of 

long  breath  of 
ly  this  seemed 
of  lotus-eating 

ion  to  Riither- 
»p  to  the  door, 
ed  wan  av  the 
niform,  an'  it's 
1  he  is,  though 
lin'  he  wants. 
1  Halford." 

and  Halford 
eduction,  and 

'  right,  Mr. 
Id  like  to  sur- 
our  hands  for 
ire  willing  to 
your  fishing 

ou  ask,"  re- 


plied   Rutherford,    "and    I    fear 

we  ve  little  to  offer  you  beyond  a 
welcome  and  the  best  we  have  in 
the  way  of  fishing." 

The  patriarchal  appearance  of 
Rutherford,  with  his  long,  wavy 
white  hair  and  thick,  curly  gray 
beard,  tall  and  erect,  with  a  quiet 
dignity  of  manner  and  carriage, 
impressed  Halford  with  a  sense 
that  here  was  an  unusual  man  for 
his  surroundings.    His  reflections 
at  this  point,  however,  were  some- 
what rudely  interrupted  by  shouts 
of     Sooks  them.  Rover;  sooks, 
boy!     and  from  around  the  cor- 
ner of  the  house  wildly  dashed  two 
calves,  pursued  by  a  black  and 
white  collie  and  a  girl  with  stream- 
ing hair.     One  of  the  calves,  in  its 
blind   eflForts   to   escape,   rushed 
headlong  into  Dulkin  and  laid  him 
flat  on  his  face  in  the  dust  of  the 
243 


'-4 


Romance  of  Rutherford's  Flat 

road.     Peals  of  laughter  from  the 
girl  filled  the  air,  and  it  was  so 
infectious  in  its  abandon,  and  the 
whole  scene  was  so  ludicrous,  that 
Halford    and    Rutherford    were 
compelled  to  join  in  the  laugh, 
though   the  latter  went   to   the 
assistance  of  Dulkin,  who,  we  are 
ashamed  to  say,  was  spitting  sand 
and  profanity  from  his  mouth  in 
equal  proportion. 

The  girl,  at  last  realizing  that  a 
stranger  was  present,  and  a  young 
and  handsome  one  at  that,  hastily 
twisted  her  flying  hair  into  a  knot 
and  stood  abashed  at  her  levity 
and  generally  disordered  appear- 
ance. 

"  My  daughter,  Judy,  Captain 
Halford,"  said  Rutherford  simply; 
and  as  Halford  bowed  and  shook 
hands,  h.*  owned  to  himself  that 
Miss  Judy  was  certainly  strikingly 
244 


ierford's  Flat 


beaubful.     She   was   then   nine- 
teen,  tall  and  graceful  of  figure 
with  a  well-shaped  head  and  rich' 
dark,  wavy  hair.     The  eyes  were 
gray,  the  lashes  long  and  soft,  the 
eyebrows     thick     and     almost 
Z^^,    The  mouth  was  large, 
with  lull  warm  lips,  which,  when 
parted,  disclosed  a  set  of  white 
i5rm  teeth.     Her  complexion  was 

clear  and  the  color  came  and  went 
with  every  passing  emotion.    The 
nose  was  somewhat  between   a 
Grecian  and  a  pug,  just  the  least 
bit  saucy.     When  she  smiled  a 
great  dimple  made  its  appearance, 
and  the  lashes  drooped  over  the 
eyes,  but  at  other  times  they  met 
yours  with  open  frankness. 

There  were  others  in  and  out  of 

our  parish  vvho  thought  as  Hal- 

Jord  d,d,  and  some  of  them  had 

laid  siege  to  Miss  Judy's  heart, 

H5 


f  * 


ii 


Romance  of  Rutherford's   Flat 

but  that  citadel  had  thus  far  re- 
fused to  capitulate — not  even  to 
Charles  Darnell,  the  last  and  most 
favored-looking  suitor.      He  still 
persisted,  however,  in  his  court- 
ing, with  the  hope  born  of  desire 
'that  in  time  the  garrison  would  be 
starved  into  surrendering  the  for- 
tress.    He  came  from  over  St. 
Michel   mountain   some  two  or 
three  times  a  week  to  have  his 
own  heartstrings  pulled  and  his 
temper  tried  by  the  imperious  and 
lovely  Judy. 

Mrs.  Rutherford  made  Captain 
Halford  welcome  to  the  house, 
and  showed  lim  to  his  room.  It 
overlooked  the  rapid-tossed  river, 
whose  cadence  blending  with  the 
ever-rustling  poplars  lent  a  feeling 
of  delightful  peacefulness  to  the 
place.  These  early  June  days  in 
our  Northland  are  instinct  with 
346 


Jierford's  Flat 

id  thus  far  re- 
— not  even  to 
;  last  and  most 
tor.      He  still 
in  his  court- 
born  of  desire 
•ison  would  be 
lering  the  for- 
-om  over  St. 
some  two  or 
:  to  have  his 
ulled  and  his 
mperious  and 

nade  Captain 
3  the  house, 
lis  room.  It 
-tossed  river, 
ling  with  the 
lent  a  feeling 
ilness  to  the 
June  days  in 
instinct  with 


J^2£l!!^?l_of_Ruth^^ 

the    budding    summer— full    of 
pleasant,  fresh  odors  and  sounds 
and   sights   that   hold   all   one's 
senses  in  dreamy  bondage.     The 
bank-side  beneath  the  captain's 
wmdow  was  decked  with  the  pink- 
striped   wood   sorrel,   the   dwarf 
dogwood  and  belated  dog-tooth 
violets.      The  maples,  with  their 
partially  expanded  leaves  in  deli- 
cate shades  of  reds  and  yellows 
made  the  near  mountain-sides  gay 
with  color,  while  the  more  distant 
mountains  lay  in  purple  haze. 

In  the  early  evening,  when  the 
shadows  of  St.  Michel  lay  upon 
the  upper  pool  and  the  broue  from 
the  rapids  floated  lightly  upon  its 
surface,  Rutherford  paddled  the 
canoe  slowly  around  it,  while  Hal- 
ford  made  fierce  battle  with  some 
of  the  great  trout  which  lurked  in 
Its  depths,  until  he  admitted  that 
247 


1,1 


'If 


r 


Romance  of  Rutherford's  Flat 

he  was  content.      Later,  the  two 
men  sat  on  the  long  bench  outside 
the  open  door  of  the  house,  and  as 
they  smoked,  Rutherford  told  the 
story  of  his  early  struggles  as  a 
schoolmaster  in  Ireland,  and  the 
final  decision  to  seek  the  New 
World  to  commence  life  anew  for 
the  sake  of  the  children  born,  and 
those  to  come.    There  were  no  re- 
grets, only  a  tender  clinging  to  the 
memories  of  the  land  of  his  birth. 
Halford  heard  somewhat  dreamily 
as  he  watched  the  great  fires  glow- 
ing and  glimmering  in  the  "  burn- 
ings "  on  the  hillsides  and  the 
weird  shadows  which  flitted  eerily 
about— the  ghosts  of  fallen  forest 
monarchs.     Above  the  rising  and 
falling  sound  of  waters  was  borne 
to  his  ears  snatches  of  a  song.    He 
caught  the  words  of  one  line : 


248 


erford's  Flat 


Romance  of  Ru^erford^TBy 

"  Her  hair  is  like  night,  and  her  eyes 
like  gray  morning." 

How  well  they  described  the 
singer.  What  a  pleasant  voice 
Miss  Judy  possessed. 

Halford's  stay  of  a  few  days 
lengthened  into  as  many  weeks 
Any  suggestion  upon  his  part  of  a 
departure  had  been  met  with  pro- 
tests from  all  the  members  of  the 
family,  excepting  Judy,  but  as  all 
his  more  subtle  arts  and  accom- 
plishments were  reserved  for  her 
benefit,  and  she  had  smiled  her 
approval  upon  him,  he  remained 
on— a  captive  to  her  charms  and 
his  pleasant  surroundings. 

Darnell,  however,  who  had 
come  several  times  since  Hal- 
ford's  arrival,  quickly  discovered 
the  growing  favor  in  which  the 
latter  was  held  by  the  Ruther- 
fords.  He  spent  his  evenings  in 
249 


'  'I 


1; 


Romance  of  Rutherford's  Flat 

somewhat     sulky     silence     and 
nursed  his  jealousy,  v/hile  his  im- 
agination  ran   riot   in   plannin*^ 
somv,  iorm  of  retaliation  upon  this 
handsojne    ;::ngHBh   captain  who 
had  dai  n*  iniritde  upon  his  terri- 
tory.    But   of  this   Halford   re- 
'  mained   quite   unconscious.     He 
said  to  Darnell  one  evening  as  he 
was  leaving : 

"I  hear,  Darnell,  that  you  have 
a  birch  canoe.  Can't  you  take 
me  for  a  run  down  the  rapids  to- 
morrow? " 

An  ugly  thought  leaped  into 
Darnell's  mind,  but  he  answered 
with  apparent  cordiality : 

"  Sure,  I'd  like  nothing  better. 
You'll  take  your  fishing  rig  with 
you  and  some  lunch  and  we'll 
make  a  day  of  it." 

As  he  wended  his  way  home- 
ward over  tl :'    mountain,  his  re- 
250 


I 


['il 


therfbrd's  Flat 

silence  and 
y,  Avhile  his  im- 
►t  in  plannin-a: 
ation  upon  this 
'  captain  who 
upon  his  terri- 
s  Hal  ford  re- 
onscious.  He 
evening  as  he 

that  you  have 
an't  you  take 
the  rapids  to- 

it  leaped  into 
'  he  answered 
ility: 

othing  better, 
hing  rig  with 
ch  and  we'll 

s  way  home- 
ntain,  his  re- 


I 


flect,or,s    were   of   the   pleasant 

nature  of  the  malicious  revenge  he 

wouid  take  upon  Halford  on  the 

morrow.     And  as  for  Judy,  she 

must  be  made  now  to  understand 

hat  there  was  to  be  no  more 

tnflmg     It  must  be  "yes"  or 

no       Here  a  doubt  arose  in  his 

mmd  as  to  which  of  these  two 
Miss  Judy  might  return  him,  but 
•MS  love  being  stronger  than  his 
judgment,  decided  for  him  that  it 

must  be  "yes,"  and  so  satisfying 
hmself  he  crept  into  the  house 
and  to  bed. 

Halford,  upon  retiring  to  his 
room,  lit  his  pipe  and  sat  down 
for  a  quiet  half-hour  of  revery 
Wis  holiday  was  drawing  to  a 
<:_lose.     It  had  been  a  very  happy 
tim,^the  happiest  he  had  ever 
jcnown.     The  simplicity  of  the  life 
had  lent  a  joy  to  existence  such  as 
351 


i! 


Ir  i 


I     I 


.;^ 


Romance  of  Rutherford's  Flat 

he  had  never  experienced—and 
the  fishing— was  there  ever  before 
such  fishing?     He  loved  it  all,  and 
the  close  touch  with  nature— and 
Judy  was  most  attractive.     Hal- 
ford  sighed.     He  had  oft-times 
^  longed  to  lead  the  life  of  a  country 
gentleman.     Was    not    this    the 
very  spot  to  settle  himself,  where 
his  income  would  go  so  far  toward 
realizing  this  dream?    A  captain 
in  a  marching  regiment,  after  all, 
was  only  a  pawn  in  the  game  of 
martial  chess.  Would  Judy  marry 
him?    At  this  stage  of  his  reverie 
his  pipe  went  out,  leaving  these 
knotty  questions  unsolved. 

Judy,  after  a  short  period  of 
star-gazing,  devoutly  said  her 
rosary,  but  as  she  told  off  the 
beads  and  said  the  responses,  be- 
tween each  there  ran  the  refrain, 
"  He  loves  me,  loves  me  not,"  as 
352 


herford's  Flat 

Jerienced — and 
lere  ever  before 
loved  it  all,  and 
h  nature — and 
ractive.     Hal- 
had  oft'times 
fe  of  a  country 
not    this    the 
bimself,  where 
)  so  far  toward 
1?    A  captain 
tient,  after  all, 
i  the  game  of 
d  Judy  marry 
of  his  reverie 
leaving-  these 
solved. 

)rt  period  of 
ly  said  her 
told  oflF  the 
esponses,  be- 
1  the  refrain, 
me  not,"  as 


5£2![5!?5L^L5uthe^^ 

the  children  are  wont  to  say  as 
they  pluck  the  petals  off  the 
marguerites.  Then,  like  the 
sensible  girl  she  really  was,  she 
blew  out  her  candle  and  went 
directly  to  sleep. 

It  was  but  little  after  daybreak 
when  Darnell  awakened  old  Mary 
McSweeny,  the  ferry-woman  at 
the  lower  pool,  to  put  him  across 
the  nver.     She  came  out  grum- 
bling at  being  disturbed  so  early. 
"Shure,   Charles  Darnell,  it's 
not  long  since  you  wint  the  other 
way.      Is  it  the  handsome  Eng- 
lish captain  at  Rutherford's  that 
makes  you  so  ristless?" 
"Damn  the  captain,"  replied 

Darnell;  «ril  give  him  a  souse  in 
the  river  to-day,  Mary,  that  will 
cool  him  off  and  send  him  about 
nis  business,  I'll  warrant." 
"  Faix,  it's  wicked  enough  yez 
aS3 


Romance  of  Ruthenord's  Fiat 

are  for  anything,"  said  old  Mary 
tu  herself,  as  Darnell  disappeared 
over  the  bank. 

An  hour  later  Halford  and  Dar- 
nell were  circling  the  upper  pool 
\  in  the  latter's  birch  canoe;  Hal- 
ford,  with  the  intense  zest  of  a 
highly  organized  nature,  reveling 
in  the  beauty  of  the  early  morn 
amid  his  idyllic  surroundings  and 
the    novel     experience     of    the 
strange  craft  that  seeme  1  so  in- 
stinct with     fe  and  yet  ^o  com- 
pletely under  the  control  of  Dar- 
nell, wh  ,  stp  idng  erect  in  the 
stern,  with  slightest  touch  of  pole 
guided  it  whither  he  would.     The 
trout  were  in  complal  mt   mmor 
until  hooked,  when  th  jy  snowed 
such  a  sudden  change  of  opinion 
and  contested  the  point  so  keenly 
\yith  Halford  as  to  set  his  blood 
tingling    with    excitement.      An 


hei  lord's  Flat 

said  old  Mary 
ell  disappeared 

ilforcl  and  Dar- 
he  upper  pool 
h  canoe;  Hal- 
!nse  zest  of  a 
iture,  reveling 
le  early  morn 
oundings  and 
ence  of  the 
seemed  so  in- 

yet  iso  com- 
►ntrol  of  Dar- 

erect  in  the 
touch  of  pole 
would.  The 
ai  it  umor 
tit  y  snowed 
?e  of  opinion 
int  so  keenly 
set  his  blood 
ement.     An 


^m^n^.f  Rutherford's  Flat 

unusually  large  and  active  fish 
gave  hmi  a  twenty  minutes'  strug- 
gle ere  it  was  brought  to  net 

"  Now,  Darnell,  for  the  rapids 
and  a  try  at  the  lower  pool,"  ex- 
claimed Halfcrd. 

Darnell,  with  Mt  a  word,  turned 
the  canoe  into  the  current.    Quiv- 

ermgforaninstar'   ntheshockof 
the  heavy  water,  it  qu'     ly  gath- 
ered way  and  the  mad  race  down 
the  river  commenced.      Darnell 
still  stc  jd  erect  with  poised  pole 
to  give  instant  direction  to  the 
canoe  to  avoid  the  bowlders  upon 
which   the  waters  hurled  them- 
selves  with    never-ceasing   roar. 
ITiey   were   close,    now,    to   the 
lower  pool.     Darnell  at  this  in- 
stant gave  the  canoe  a  slight  push 
to  the  right,  a  »parentlv  lost  his 
balance,  and  the  canoe  promptly 
turned  upside  down,  leaving  the 
355 


m 


Romance  of  Rutherford's  Flat 


two  men  struggling  in  the  seeth- 
ing current.  Halford,  heavily 
clothed  and  totally  unprepared  for 
so  unequal  a  contest,  was  hurled 
and  tossed  about,  ever  carried 
downward;  now  buried  beneath 
the  waters,  again  to  be  cast  upon 
the  foam-crests.  Driven  against 
a  rock,  his  head  was  deeply 
gashed.  He  was  barely  able  to 
drag  himself  into  the  shallows  at 
the  head  of  the  pool,  when  he  be- 
came unconscious  and  lay  there, 
with  upturned  face  barely  out  of 
the  water. 

Darnell,  lightly  clad  and  cling- 
ing to  his  pole,  quickly  forced  his 
way  to  the  bank  and  then  strolled 
down  the  shore  to  recover  his 
canoe  and  offer  his  feigned  re- 
grets to  Halford;  but  coming  sud- 
denly upon  the  latter,  lying  in  the 
shallow  with  white  face  and  fore- 
256 


lerford's  Flat       I        RomancT^^^ 


^  in  the  seeth- 
Iford,  heavily 
unprepared  for 
St,  was  hurled 

ever  carried 
uried  beneath 
)  be  cast  upon 
Driven  against 

was  deeply 
>arely  able  to 
ie  shallows  at 
1,  when  he  be- 
and  lay  there, 
barely  out  of 

lad  and  cling- 
kly  forced  his 
i  then  strolled 
>  recover  his 
:s  feigned  re- 
t  coming  sud- 
r,  lying  in  the 
face  and  fore- 


head cut  and  bloody,  so  terrified 
and   unnerved  the  shocked  and 
startled   man,   who   saw   now   a 
tragedy  where  only  a  farce  was  in. 
tended,  that  he  dropped  to  his 
knees  beside  Halford  and  gave 
vent  to  his  grief  and  despair  in 
open  expression  of  his  folly  and 
wickedness.     He  did  not  hear  the 
hurried  footsteps  behind  him,  and 
only    a    hand    placed    upon    his 
shoulder  and  a  startled  voice  ex- 
claiming, -  Charles  Darnell,  do  I 
hear  you  say  you  did  this  dreadful 
thing,  and  is  he— is  he  dead?" 
roused  the  grief-stricken  man  to 
his  senses.     Turning  his  haggard 
face  to  the  questioner,   he  saw 
Judy  standing  over  him  with  an 
expression  of  horror  and  repug- 
nance  showing   in   hers   as   she 
awaited  his  answer. 

"  As  God  is  my  judge,  it  was 
257 


•'.!. 


i'i 


1 1 , 

I)  i 


_^:ss:!L  'L 


Romance  of  Rutherford's  Flat 

only  to  be  a  joke,  Judy,  and  my 
heart's  broken  for  my  folly.  Can 
you  help  me  carry  the  body  to  the 
bank?" 

Unnerved  as  she  was,  she  yet 
found  strength  to  help  Darnell 
carry  the  unconscious  form  of 
Halford  to  a  grassy  slope,  where 
they  laid  it  gently  down.  As 
they  did  so,  a  sigh  escaped  his  lips 
and  his  eyes  opened  for  an  instant. 

"  He  lives — he  lives! "  passion- 
ately cried  Judy.  "  Run  for  your 
life,  Charles  Darnell,  and  bring 
help." 

The  relieved  man  needed  no 
further  prompting,  and  flew  back 
to  Rutherford's.  Judy  cried  and 
laughed  somewhat  hysterically, 
but  never  for  an  instant  relaxed 
her  efiforts  to  restore  Halford  to 
consciousness,  and  he,  like  the  art- 
ful fellow  he  was,  came  to  his 
258 


therford's  Flat 


,  Judy,  and  my 
my  folly.  Can 
the  body  to  the 

le  was,  she  yet 
)  help  Darnell 
cious  form  of 
>y  slope,  where 
ly  down.  As 
escaped  his  lips 
1  for  an  instant. 
'vesT'  passion- 
"  Run  for  your 
ell,  and  bring 

an  needed  no 
and  flew  back 
[udy  cried  and 
t  hysterically, 
nstant  relaxed 
ire  Halford  to 
le,  like  the  art- 
came  to   his 


sense,  and  seeing  Judy  bending 
over  him  with  tearc  r^it:       j 

her  cheelcrin^  fiT     ^  *^°^" 
wneeKs,  and  finding  a  great 

cornfort  in  feeling  his  hand^be 

tween  her  two  soft,  warm  ones 

d'screetly  closed  his  eyes  aga.n 

and  even  allowed  his  fo'rehead  to 
be  bathed  and  kissed  without 
niatang  any  sign,  but  revived  so 
q^ckly     thereafter     that     poor 

a  st rf''''"'Z  """^'''y  ^««ived 
a  shock  lest  she  was  discovered 
and  she  blushed  crimson.      But' 
her  secret  was  now  in  Halford's 
possession,  and  his  own  fate  was 

and^H^ff'^"^'''  '""'  ^*''  »«™^". 
and  Halford  was  removed  to  the 

house.     Darnell  watched  for  an 

opportunity,  and  beckoning  Judy 
as.de,  said  to  her:     "Judy,  IVe 

done  a  great  wrong  this  day  and 

i  m  gomg  to  ask  Halford's  and 

259 


t 


M 


!   ' 


I 


m 


;; ,; 


Romance  of  Rutherford's  Flat 

your  forgiveness,  and  then  I'm 
going  away  from  here  forever." 

And  Judy,  touched  by  his  peni- 
tence, freely  gave  it. 

A  few  evenings  later,  Judy  said 
she  was  going  down  to  the  point 
to  look  after  a  pet  lamb. 

"  May  I  go,  too  ?  "  queried  Hal- 
ford,  who  was  then  convalescent. 

"  You  may,  Mr.  Halford,  if  you 
will  cany  the  pan  of  salt."     When 
they  came  to  the  big  elm  on  the 
bank  whence  Judy  had  witnessed 
the  upsetting  of  the  canoe,  she  in- 
voluntarily shuddered  as  she  re- 
called the  scene.     Halford  slipped 
his  arm  around  her  waist,  saying 
as  he  did  so:     "Judy,  you  were 
thinking  of  that  wretched  morn- 
ing, but  now,  dearest,  I  want  to 
return  that  kiss  you  gave  me  then, 
and  to  say  that  I  love  you  and 
want  you  to  be  m.y  wife,  for  that 
260 


ierford*s  Flat 


ind  then  Fm 
re  forever." 
:d  by  his  peni- 

ter,  Judy  said 
1  to  the  point 
mb. 

'  queried  Hal- 
convalescent, 
[alford,  if  you 
salt."     When 
g  elm  on  the 
lad  witnessed 
:anoe,  she  in- 
;d  as  she  re- 
ilford  slipped 
waist,  saying 
iy,  you  were 
itched  morn- 
It,  I  want  to 
:ave  me  then, 
)ve  you  and 
vife,  for  that 


was  the  luckiest  accident  that  ever 
happened  me  when  I  learned  your 
secret."  ^ 

My,  blushing  but  unresisting 
allowed  Halford  to  take  the  kisl 

Not  many  months  later,  Halford 
and  his  wife  became  residents  of 

Rutherford  had  presented  to  Tudv 
as  a  wedding  gift,  and  Halford's 
dream  had  become  a  reality 


261 


■U'r 


•IH" 


m\ 


PRINTED  BY  R.  r.  DONNELLEY 
AND  SONS  COMPANY,  AT  THE 
LAKESIDE  PRESS,  CHICAGO,  ILL. 


